Lawrence Revisited
by Onari
Summary: Another version of Sam and Dean's hunt back in Lawrence. Dean wasn't ready to face the past, but he didn't imagine it would be far worse than expected, when it was the past that stood and faced him. Mainly Dean's Angst. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I owe nothing of Supernatural, bla bla bla. Trust me, if I did, I'd have noticed.**

**Rated T: For…well, to make sure, I guess, but there's nothing especially non suitable coming, that I know of yet. Maybe a bit of language.**

**A/N: Another version of what might have happened when Sam and Dean went back to Lawrence. Basically Dean's angst trip. I hope I'll be able to update soon.**

**REVISED, thanks to my beta –aka guardian angel-, Emrys. ¡GRACIAS! All mistakes are mine**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 1. To know better_

"When what?"

"When I swore to myself that I'd never go back there…"

Sam would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the shaky edge to Dean's voice when he spoke those words. He would be lying if he said it hadn't surprised him. But in that moment it was nothing but plain pressing urgency that was driving his every impulse. Urgency to go to the woman in his dream and save her. It was as if a freaky automatic pilot had switched on in his brain and taken control of his actions since the vision had woken him up. They had to save her. They just _had_ to. That's what they were supposed to do, right? Save people.

Sam would be lying if he said he felt any remorse for using that particular psychology on Dean, as he would be if he said he had actually thought about it at all. All that mattered to Sam was the knowledge that his older brother wouldn't let an innocent woman die just because he wasn't crazy about going back home. Of course, Dean didn't retort. He just clenched his jaw and started packing, all the while avoiding Sam's gaze.

Twenty hours later, they were headed to Lawrence at full speed. At first, Sam had been frantic about not being there on time to save the family, and his continuous finger tapping and nervous glances to the speedometer should have been on the brink of finishing Dean's patience. For some reason, though, they didn't, and after a while, Sam resigned himself and relaxed a little.

Day slipped and night came over again to find them still on the road. In all that time, Dean had been at the wheel, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. He hadn't said a word since they left the motel. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Sam had offered to drive a few hours ago, and Dean had barked at him to shut up.

"I'm driving this bitch as fast as I can, Sam, so do me a favor and leave me alone!"

"Okay…" Sam had muttered, taken aback by Dean's reaction. Not that he was unfamiliar with his brother's bad temper now and then, but had he just called his baby "bitch?"

Stealing a glance at Dean's tense jaw and noting how fixedly he stared at the road, awareness started coming slowly into Sam's brain that his brother had actually tried to tell him something at the motel room, and he was feeling a bit guilty —no, actually _very_ guilty— for having missed it. No, he wouldn't lie; he had overridden it. "Too late", he thought. If he tried to get to Dean now, he might infuriate him. Besides, his older brother would prefer being soaked in boiling oil before letting him pick up that conversation. Sam sighed. Sometimes silence was the best option, and now was definitely not a good time to push Dean.

As the road raced past his half-closed eyes, Sam started to doze off. Angry with himself, he blinked awake and tried to focus on what their next steps would be once they got to Lawrence. But his thoughts kept coming back to Dean.

_I swore I'd never go back there_. And yet, "there" was exactly where they were driving to, because Sam had wanted it. "No, because there're innocent people in danger," Sam reminded himself, "He knows that. He understands." _He is strong. He is unbreakable…_

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam woke up with a jolt when the car ran off the road all of a sudden, and he was pushed against the passenger's door. Dean corrected the direction quickly with a sharp turn and swore under his breath.

"Dean!" Sam complained, a bit disoriented.

"Sorry, something got in the way. Go back to sleep".

With his heart still pounding, Sam eyed his watch to check the time. 5.45AM.

"Where are we?"

"Couple of hours from Lawrence."

"Man, you really should let me drive," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dean frowned, without taking his eyes off the road. Although he might have wanted to pretend he wasn't tired, his whole body language was screaming the opposite message. Anyway, if anything, that only made him edgier.

"And you should stop fucking bugging me, _Sammy_," he grunted back, stressing his kid brother's pet name. "But that's not going to happen, is it?"

Upset, Sam clicked his tongue and looked away. God, he hated when Dean did that: throwing his concern back at him harshly, so that he would stop worrying and get angry instead. They called it 'the exasperation trick". And despite the fact that Sam should probably be used to Dean's lame strategy, it always worked as the older expected it to.

"Yeah, crashing the car 'cause you fell asleep sounds much more appealing," Sam attacked back with an offended tone.

He hadn't wanted to say that; he hadn't meant it. Dean was the biggest control freak on Earth, and though that made him an annoying pain in the neck most of times, Sam was aware his big brother was especially hard on himself. That's why he seriously doubted Dean would ever do something as irresponsible as driving when he didn't feel capable of it. And Sam knew Dean would never do that if his little brother was on board. But that was the thing about words. They couldn't be taken back.

Dean's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as he fixed a hard, inscrutable look on Sam. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds until Dean shook his head lightly and looked back to the road with a deeply hurt expression.

"Go to hell, Sam."

Sam clenched his fists and shut up, because it was obvious that neither of them was in the mood and he'd blow it again should he try to fix it. After a short while, though, he broke the silence.

"Dean, you have to stop."

"Sam, I swear if you say that again…"

"Dude, the gas. We're running out of gas."

Dean stole an incredulous glance at the gas marker and bit his lip. At first, he remained stiff, not wanting to give in. Then, as resignation –and a weird feeling of resentment towards the Impala- overtook him, part of his façade vanished and he let out a weary sigh. Of course, Sam noticed and wanted to say something, but before he could do that, Dean turned on the radio and Black Sabbath roared down the road, shutting him down.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

At dawn, they stopped at a gas station about 20 miles from Lawrence. Metallica had replaced Black Sabbath a while ago, and neither of the deafening bands had allowed the brothers to talk since their little fight. "Well, that was exactly the point," Sam said to himself. The good side was that it had also given them time to chill and when the music was turned off, the silence was only awkward, not bitter.

Dean pulled up the brake and turned off the engine. He didn't step out of the car right away, but remained sitting with his eyes fixed on the steering wheel around which his hands still maintained a death grip. Now in daylight, the dark circles under his eyes were especially noticeable, and the redness surrounding that mesmerizing hazel green color look he and his brother shared, told that he was making a big effort to keep them open. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Dean…about earlier, I…"

"Never mind," Dean cut him off with a shake of his head.

Sam looked away.

"I'm sorry," the younger said anyway.

"Yeah, me too."

Dean's soft response made Sam turn to face his brother. Dean wasn't looking at him, however, but at the wheel, where his grip had loosened and his fingers were now tapping. The older Winchester cleared his throat and said:

"Take care of the tank, will you? I have to go to the bathroom."

"Sure."

"Great," Dean nodded, still tapping thoughtfully.

A second later he tapped the wheel harder, as if he had just made up his mind about something, and he stepped out of the car without looking back. Sam sighed and tracked his brother's resolute strides until Dean disappeared around the corner. Then he stepped out as well and cringed at the stiffness in his limbs.

"Fill her up," he said to the approaching guy while he stretched and breathed in the refreshing morning breeze.

The guy nodded and pulled out the gas pump to fill the Impala's tank. In the meantime, Sam sat on the hood of the Impala to take in the landscape around them. It was weird, he thought, to be here. He couldn't say he remembered much of Lawrence. From what he had been able to piece together by talking with his Dad and Dean, their family had left the town when Sam was five. So rather than real memories about the place, Sam only had second-hand knowledge of the time during which they had lived there. That would probably be different for Dean, he thought, instinctively eyeing the corner of space where his brother had disappeared. Yeah, all this would be more familiar to Dean. He still might remember. The thought left Sam with a light sensation of uneasiness, and it took all his will power not to go and check on his brother.

_He is strong…_

Sam was startled a minute later by Dean's sudden reappearance, and he quickly averted his eyes from the space he had been staring at during the last 60 seconds. Suddenly, Sam's heart was pounding inside his chest, and it was because for a moment he'd sworn Dean's eyes were bright with tears. But he had probably imagined it, because when he dared to look up at his brother again there was no trace of them.

"Hey…" Sam started.

"Hey. Are we done here?"

Sam hesitated, as the familiar "You okay?" question was brushed away by his big brother even before he had the chance to ask it.

"Yeah, I'll go pay," Sam said. Dean nodded, or so it seemed, because he was giving his back to Sam.

The younger Winchester entered the gas station to pay for the gas and used the opportunity to grab a couple of donuts. Maybe he should get them some coffee too; yep, that would be nice. He paid for it all and headed to the Impala, but he slowed down his pace as he approached the car. Dean was already sitting behind the steering wheel, but he was now leaning against it, his eyes closed.

"You're such a stubborn asshole," Sam murmured to himself.

But that was good old Dean, the only person Sam knew besides his father, whose philosophy of life worked completely upside down compared to the rest of the world. The safest way to know if Dean needed help was to check if he accepted it, and then to think the opposite. Dean wouldn't mind giving Sam dirty looks whenever he took too long to go to the trunk and pick up his bags. Simply taking the time to put his jacket on or to tie his shoelaces seemed to be reason enough for Dean to complain that he was nobody's butler and to throw Sam's bag at him in irritation. But, for example, if Dean was hurt after a hunt, even barely walking, he would be damned if he let Sam carry his stuff. What's more, he'd resolutely grab Sam's belongings too, so as to prove to his brother's evaluating eye that he needed no one. At least, if his kid brother didn't hurry to grab it himself.

The key, Sam had learned, was not giving Dean the chance to accept a hand or not. The key was giving it to him matter-of-factly, without asking for permission.

Startled, Dean opened his eyes when a bag of donuts landed in his lap, and he looked up to find Sam handing him a cup of coffee.

"I was thinking," Sam started, in a casual way.

"Really?" Dean arched an eyebrow but took the coffee.

"We might find a motel before checking on our old house and crash there for a couple of hours."

Dean rubbed his forehead and glanced suspiciously at his brother.

"I thought we had to hurry."

That was low, to use his own anxiety against him. But Sam didn't fall for it and forced a sensible tone.

"We do, but it's 7AM on a Sunday, man. We can't get a whole family out of bed and expect them to believe the first thing we come up with. We have to think of a strategy."

Dean frowned and sipped his coffee. Sam feared what he was trying to do was too obvious for his brother –and it was– but at least he had been smart enough not to insist on driving, and Sam had the idea that Dean gave him credit for that. In fact, Sam was pretty sure his older brother was ready to let him win, just not before pricking a bit further.

"You're the visionary," Dean mocked, and he still sounded aggravated at Sam for hiding his little "secret" from him. "If you say so."

Sam pursed his lips.

_Not biting it, Dean_. _Not biting it._

"All right then," the younger concluded, and tapped at his brother's window frame before heading to the passenger door.

All things considered, he was pretty satisfied. They had gotten to Lawrence almost in a blink of an eye (that, he had to thank Dean for), and after a bit of rest they would be prepared to stop whatever evil was attacking the family in his vision. Hell, they might even be nearing the end of this damn crusade and close to destroying the thing that killed their mom. The thing that killed, Jess!

_All things considered,_ Sam's mind repeated. Dean drove silently at his side, with a blank expression back on his face. "He's just tired," Sam chastised himself. "And he's going to be pissed if you don't stop looking at him."

But then, he wasn't yelling, nor looking daggers at Sam, nor anything that Dean should be doing, just because he was _Dean_. God, he even had agreed to use some rest when Sam had suggested it! Sam had seen Dean tired and sleepless many times before, but never like this. The idea that there was something else going on with his brother nagged at the back of his mind.

_I swore to myself that I'd never go back there_… Oh, yes. He had heard the words, but he hadn't processed them. Until now, when he saw Dean's breath catch as his eyes flickered on a "Welcome to Lawrence" sign and then lingered a bit on the rearview mirror.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?" his brother replied, immediately paying attention to the road again.

"Are you, uh…Are you gonna be okay with this, man?"

Sam would be lying if he said he didn't realize how terribly late that question sounded now. Worse, how perfunctory it may sound to Dean. But he would be lying too if he said he had been able to predict how this particular hunt would affect his big brother. Because, okay, this wasn't like any other gig, but he was just as sure that there was nothing in the world his brother couldn't deal with. Yeah, Dean had definitely done a hell of a job on him. For years he had drilled into his baby brother's brain what had been an absolute truth during his childhood and something adulthood had not completely erased from his subconscious. Dean was strong. Dean was unbreakable. Sam knew that.

"Let me get back to you on that," Dean muttered.

_Damn._

He should have known better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Here you have the second installment revised. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Emrys. I love you! All mistakes are mine.**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 2. A job like any other_

Dean sighed and closed his eyes as the hot water poured from the rusty showerhead and over his body. His arms and legs were so numb that he couldn't really tell if the prickling rain of liquid fire was pleasant or not. It simply _was_. And for now, that was more than he could ask for.

_It's just a job. A job like any other._

Barely registering the misty steam that curled around his limbs and would soon thicken the air, he rubbed his arms and shoulders and tilted his head to loosen the stiffness of his neck. The water had to be very, _very_ hot if the square shower floor was turning into a sauna. And yet, his body remained as if anesthetized. "No, it's me," he thought, observing that his skin was indeed turning red.

_Just a job…_

When those words had started repeating in his mind he didn't know. But now he hung onto them as a mantra. Mumbling them over and over, Dean rested his forehead on the wall. The moist tiles were fresher than his burning skin, and somehow balmy. _A job like any other_. He wanted so bad to believe that. He needed to, because if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to go back into the room. He'd stay in the suffocating shower forever.

Only if he did that, he'd leave Sam on his own. And he couldn't fail his brother; he wouldn't, not now and not ever. Although Sam wouldn't admit it, that fucking shinning thing was scaring the hell out of him. He hadn't forgiven himself about Jess, no matter how many times Dean told him it wasn't his fault. And now, if those nightmares proved themselves to be visions, the kid would have to relive the ordeal.

No way. Sam shouldn't know he was scared too.

_Scared? Me? Why should I be? It's just another job._

Well, maybe Dean didn't believe it firmly, but at the end of the day lying to himself could work just as well. It wouldn't be the first time; it wouldn't be the last. The hunter took a deep, steamy breath and swallowed the mild dizziness that the lack of oxygen was causing him. Then he turned the water temperature to its maximum as he pressed his head harder on the tiles before breathing out. Yeah, he was used to burying his fears and keeping in control at any cost –his sanity wouldn't make a difference. Because he was a hunter and that's what his dad had trained him for. And because Sam was waiting for him in the room, and that alone made it worth it to step out of his safe, tiled limbo and face the job. Just like any other.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

When Dean went back to the twin bedded room Sam and he had signed themselves into a while ago, his little brother was absorbed with the laptop. He seemed to be very busy printing some documents and looking through the town registers, late news, and his dad's journal at the same time.

"Wow, college boy in action," Dean forced a smile.

Sam turned to look at his older brother, noticed his pale and tired complexion, and his expression of deep concentration become openly evaluating.

"What? Did I grow green ears or something?" Dean frowned to put an end to the uncomfortable examination.

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"If I say yes, will you run to the mirror screaming like a girl?"

Dean chuckled, relieved that Sam tacitly agreed to let it go.

"That's all you, Baywatch," Dean retorted, roughly tugging his hair.

Sam ignored him but couldn't hold back a light smile. _Well done, Dean_, the older thought glimpsing his brother's relief. At least, he was still able to press the right buttons so that his kid brother would stop worrying about nonsense –meaning _him_– and go back to business.

"So, what have you got?" Dean asked.

Sam flipped through a bunch of printed property registry pages.

"The house is under the name of Jennifer S. Lincoln; she bought it last month and moved in three weeks ago with her two children…eh…" Sam found the next details in the blink of an eye, even though the small table of the motel room was an absolute mess of papers. "Sari and Richie, 6 and 4 years old."

"Where did they live before?"

"Wichita."

"Why did they move?"

"Her husband died last summer. Sounds like a fresh start to me."

"Oh", Dean said, thoughtfully. "How did he die?"

"A car crash, according to the death certificate. No trace of supernatural stuff involved," Sam answered in an "already considered that" tone while showing Dean a copy of the record taken from the Kansas registry.

Dean put a hand on the back of Sam's chair and sneaked a peak at the document over his shoulder. He had to admit his geek brother knew how to do research. They had got the room less than half an hour ago, and Sam hadn't been alone more than twenty minutes since Dean went into the bathroom. _Still enough time for Sammy to dig into official records of the state_, the older thought with a shade of pride.

"Any idea about what might be after her?"

"I can't be sure, but apparently whatever is haunting them isn't related to the family…" Sam trailed off. Dean swallowed and refused to look at Sam, who was cocking his head slightly to meet his eyes.

"Right, so then it's related to the house," Dean completed, as unceremoniously as he could, after clearing his throat. "What do you have about it?"

Sam didn't answer right away and Dean could see why his baby brother was hesitant. Sam was being too careful, too sensitive with him, and that was something he would not let happen.

"I've tracked the property records back 'til 1988, when Dad sold it," Sam said finally. "Since that date, there have been around fourteen different owners. None of them stayed longer than a year."

"Any incidents reported?" Dean asked, forcing his voice to sound as professional as Sam's.

"Dozens of complaints over the years, some unresolved accidents." Sam's agile fingers flew over the keyboard until something caught his attention. "And a death."

Dean frowned and his left fist clasped the back of the chair.

"A death? How?"

"Marcia Johnson. 2003. It says here that she died of a heart attack in her bedroom…" Sam's voice went lower, sadness and anger mixing in it. "She was 30 years old, man."

Dean sighed, and this time let his brother lock eyes with him, but for Sam's benefit only.

"Maybe it was a natural death," Dean ventured.

"Yeah, but what if it wasn't? What if now Jennifer…?"

"We'll make sure nothing happens to her, all right?" Dean cut him off with his most perfect Dean-like, reassuring tone. "That's what we're here for."

Still looking into Dean's eyes, Sam pursed his lips and nodded. A second later, the younger clicked his tongue and shrugged Dean away.

"Back off, dude, you're soaking my shirt!" he complained, noticing that Dean's wet hair was dripping onto his shoulder.

Dean chuckled softly and stood up straight, but instead of moving he slapped his brother's neck with the towel that he had taken with him from out of the bathroom.

"Hey," Sam gave him a dirty look. "You're such a jerk!"

"I'm many things, Sammy," Dean grinned. "But I take all of them to a degree of mastery."

Sam smiled to himself while his vain brother made his way to the bed and sat on the edge rubbing his hair dry. To tell the truth, he couldn't deny that was true. Of all the people Sam knew, nobody was ever "more anything" than Dean. Every adjective, good or bad, he could think of being applicable to his brother, was taken to the extreme by him. His brother would never merely _be_, but _be_ in superlative.

"Can you imagine it, Dean?" Sam rambled full of emotion. "Maybe this is it, the thing that killed Mom, the son a bitch that killed Jess, maybe…"

"Sam--"

"But it is possible! This is where it all started. What if…?"

"Maybe it has nothing at all to do with Mom or Jessica," Dean insisted. "Listen, I know how you feel, but we won't know anything for sure until we go to the house. And you have to be prepared to accept that maybe this is just a job, like any other…"

_Did he just say that out loud?_

Dean watched Sam carefully as he began chewing the inside of his cheek with impatience. The younger man frowned, and if he had to guess, Dean would say that Sam had just determined that his older brother was right. But it was easy to see that Sam was finding it hard to stay cool. Dean understood the feeling, and in a way, was glad that Sam's attention was diverted from him. Besides, comforting Sam was something he could do in his sleep.

"Why don't you take a shower too," Dean suggested. "I'll try to gather more info in the meantime."

"No, I'll do that later," Sam shook his head. "We should probably get going."

Dean seemed about to say something, but then thought twice. If he hesitated now, he wouldn't be able to get Sam off his back later. Even now his brother was barely able to conceal his urgency, but still trying badly not to rush things for Dean. It was kind of sweet…and humiliating.

"Okay, you ready then?"

"Yeah" Sam eyed his brother intently. "Are _you_?"

"Yup," Dean answered.

Too fast to be credible. But Sam would have to believe him, anyway. It wasn't as if they had many options.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam sat in the passenger's seat with a map of the town spread over his legs and drummed nervously on the crispy paper as he pressed his head against the window to spot the street names on corners.

"Turn left."

His voice was tense with anticipation, which made it sound pretty much like an order. Dean ground his teeth and said nothing. He didn't need to listen to Sam's directions to drive through Lawrence no matter how many years had passed. Though narrower and somehow less colorful when seen through adult eyes, the streets were still familiar and crowded with memories here and there. Most of the shops had changed, but some of them he still recognized; the same old windows a bit less shining, aged shop assistants he had once known with less wrinkles behind polished counters he had sat on while Mom or Dad paid for an ice cream or a new pair or shoes…

"Right…Dean, right. Turn right!" Sam nudged his brother.

"Damn, don't do that, man!" Dean protested, gripping the wheel to prevent the Impala from skidding. "You want us to get acquainted with a fucking light post?"

Sam ducked his head sheepishly and mumbled an apology. His heart pounding, Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on the road. He had to stay calm. Sam had to stay calm. Eyeing his little brother with an aggravated expression, Dean sensed that Sam was now lost in his own morose thoughts. Knowing that acting angry would accomplish nothing to help the situation, Dean tried to calm things down.

"You have to relax, dude. I know where I'm going, all right?"

"All right."

After that, they drove quietly for a while, Sam repressing his nerves, Dean fighting the emotions that built inside him on every corner they turned around. After a moment, though, something caught the older's attention, and his lips curved with a smile.

"Hey, check that out," he said.

"What?" Sam asked at once, leaning forward in his seat.

Dean nodded to point at Sam's right and the younger scanned the area but found nothing special among the shop windows.

"What is it?"

"That candy shop next to the bank. I can believe it's still there," Dean answered. "You used to love it. Once you went in, it was impossible to drag you out."

Blinking in disbelief, Sam stared at Dean and then turned to see the shop his brother was referring to.

"Really?" Sam asked with a hint of curiosity that made him sound younger than he was.

Dean could almost see him as he had been, a five-year old, honey-brown haired child tugging his sleeve and playing his best puppy dog look to get some sweets.

"You bet. You want to know what _is_ supernatural? How you made it to five years old with all your teeth!" Dean grinned.

Sam chuckled softly.

"And that comes from a man who boasts of a million dollar smile and is addicted to kettle corn."

"C'mon, I'm not…"

"You so are, Dean. Face it."

Dean's smile widened, and he shrugged as if to accept the charges while Sam, visibly more relaxed, leaned his head back on the headrest.

Minutes later, Dean stopped the Impala in front of the house and turned off the engine. He was reluctant to look at the two-story façade across the road, but on the contrary, Sam immediately bent over the driver's seat until he was practically lying in Dean's lap to stare frantically at the house. Startled by his kid brother's sudden move, Dean pressed himself against the seat.

"Dude!"

"Is it that one?"

Without taking his eyes from Sam's shoulder, Dean grunted some sort of affirmative answer. This was so stupid, Dean thought. Sooner or later he would have to lift his eyes and take a look at the building.

_Get a hold of yourself, man_…

"I don't remember it," Sam's voice brought Dean back to reality.

"What?" Dean blinked.

Sam had backed off a little but wasn't looking directly at his brother.

"I, uh…I recognize it. It's the house in all of the pictures, the house of my vision, but I don't…I don't _remember_ it," he tried to explain.

Taking in the sad, almost apologetic tone of Sam's voice, Dean frowned and glanced at the façade almost without realizing he was doing it. Automatically, a rush of mixed emotions struck him as a hammer blow, and his heart went wild. Clenching his fists, Dean forced those emotions deep down inside him —where they damn well belonged!— and focused on Sam. Yeah, sometimes, especially when Sam was around he was awfully grateful that putting his worries to the back of his mind came so naturally to him. On the other hand, it was also one of the many reasons not having his brother by his side could be scary as hell.

"I'd be surprised if you did," Dean offered Sam a reassuring half-smile. "We left town when you were young, and to be fair, you never really got to _live_ in it before that."

Still not convinced, Sam looked down.

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean insisted. "After Mom died, we crashed for a couple of weeks at a friend's place until Dad found an apartment in town. That's where we stayed until we took off. You were just a baby when the fire took place, and afterwards you never came any closer to the house. How would you remember it?"

"But you do, right?"

"I…" Dean cleared his throat and answered evasively. "Yeah, sort of. But I was older."

"It must be weird for you," Sam muttered.

Dean locked eyes with Sam and breathed out quietly. His brother wasn't asking a question but making a statement. Actually, a big understatement, but Sam was probably aware of that too. It was basically his way of telling Dean he understood that this situation wasn't easy for him to deal with without scaring his proud brother away. It was a chance for Dean to admit that seeing the house was weird, without giving in to anything else. _The damn kid is good_. Dean couldn't deny that the weight on his chest lightened a little by the simple act of shrugging yes.

"Anyway," he added firmly, "That would be my problem." _You don't have to feel guilty about it_.

Sam shook his head imperceptibly and was about to answer back when his eyes suddenly grew wide, and his body tensed. In a heartbeat, Dean followed his brother's gaze to spot a blond woman in her thirties walking down the street with a little girl hopping around her. Both were headed to the house.

"Is that her?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Yeah."

Sam's voice came out as a whisper so low that Dean seriously doubted he would have heard it at all had Sam not been so close. This is it, Dean thought while taking a deep breath. There was no turning back. Sam's vision had been right, and there was no possibility his subconscious could have made this up even by mixing memories, remorse, and fears. His little brother had dreamt of a woman he had never seen before. And the woman _existed_.

"Geez, Dean," Sam gasped.

Sam was terribly pale, and his anxiety had forced him to sit tensely upright. Behind his wide-open hazel eyes, Dean could glimpse his brother's racing thoughts spinning feverishly: "The vision was real…I'm a freak…the vision was real…I could have saved Jess…"

"Sam!" Dean called to him with a steady tone. And Sam responded to his voice instinctively and focused back on him after blinking a couple of times. "Listen, this is good news."

"Good news?" Sam repeated in confusion.

"Of course, little bro," Dean asserted. "It means we got here on time after all your bitching about rushing."

Sam's lips trembled before turning into a tiny, forced smile. Enough to show that little dimple of his. Enough to make Dean smile back.

"I guess you're right."

"You _guess_? That hurts, man," Dean complained, faking a hurt expression. Then, he patted Sam's shoulder and grabbed the handle to open his door. "All right, let's go?"

Back to his senses after the short moment of panic, Sam nodded, and both brothers got out of the car at the same time.

The moment Dean felt the soil under his feet, though, he realized he wasn't breathing. A part of his brain knew he was holding his breath on purpose to keep himself as shut off and safe as possible. And then there was another part, the one registering the white spots that blurred the next step, the one that gasped desperately for air. Ignoring both and moving on pure willpower alone, Dean hurried to catch up with Sam and stumbled over a toy train that was lying unnoticed in the grass.

"Shit!" he swore, after a sharp intake of breath.

The familiar smell and texture of the air made him sick, and dizziness came to the surface in the form of cold sweat. _Control yourself_. Easier said than done, as he sensed the house's shadow hovering over him. He wasn't ready. _Sam..._ His brother hadn't even noticed that he was frozen behind him and kept walking farther and farther away. _Sammy!_, Dean tried to yell all the while hating the feeling of losing it. He couldn't do this right now; it was like having his guts crushed, like feeling his every thought in chaos. It was simple and plain terror that escaped his control. A terror he hated. A terror he had run away from and swore he would never face again.

_Control yourself!_

His father's authoritarian voice made his way through the turmoil Dean's consciousness had become, along with a rush of suppressed memories of those five years his father had been stalking the property in search of answers, taking Dean with him. In all these years Dean had never been able to trespass the garden. No matter how hard he tried, as soon as he arrived to the spot where he had stood with Sammy in his arms —the exact spot he was now— an irrational fear paralyzed him nearly to death. And then John would yell at him. And John would shake him. And then he would glare at him full of contempt and finally he would abandon him alone in the dark, because his legs refused to follow.

_Dad, I'll be a good boy, I'll be brave…But please not the house…don't take me to the house…_

"Dean?"

Dean flinched when Sam placed a hand on his shoulder and was close to falling backwards, but his brother was quick and grabbed him with both hands.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked full of concern.

Angry with himself, Dean shoved Sam off and took a couple of steps back. Trying to avoid his brother's eyes, he was instead forced to look at the house. No fire, no darkness. No demon coming out the wooden jambs. It was just a house, and he was no longer a scared kid.

"Nothing, I just stumbled."

Sam fixed a scrutinizing look on his big brother. Then, he eyed the toy train and frowned.

"You _stumbled_? Where were you, man?"

Dean cracked a laugh and ran a hand over his forehead and hair.

"Settling a couple of things with Proust, I think."

Sam fixed him with a condescending glare.

"What? I read!"

"Are you hurt?"

Taken aback by the question, Dean forgot to feel offended and stammered.

"No… I just…uh…"

"Stumbled."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well, that's the tricky thing with madeleines."

The older Winchester stared at Sam dumbfounded for a long moment, because the latter had spoken those words with a completely serious face. Finally, though, Dean let out one of those weak but genuine smiles he shared only with his baby bother.

"Bitches," he grumbled, with a playful shine in his eyes.

"They should be illegal."

"Absolutely."

Sam smiled too.

"Let's go?" Sam half-asked.

Dean nodded, but let the younger lead the way before daring to test his legs. After all, in 22 years that porch had been the only place in the world onto which he was unable to follow John.

Somehow, it was much easier to follow Sam.

_Ding-Dong_

"I'll get that, dear!" Sam and Dean heard a woman's voice inside the moment they rang the bell.

Sooner than expected the door was opened, and they found themselves staring at a middle-aged, black woman with sparkling dark eyes.

"Eh…Hello, Madam," Dean said, recovering first. "My name is Dean, this is Sam. We've been informed that a complaint was made about some weird noises coming from your house. And since there have been some bug problems in the area, the neighborhood council is carrying out some inspections. Are you…uh… Jennifer Sarah Lincoln?"

The black woman waited patiently for Dean to finish his trained speech and then smiled kindly at both of them.

"No, sweetie, I'm afraid I'm not Jennifer," she gently said. "But please, come in. Jenny is inside…We were waiting for you."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here comes the 3rd chapter revised! Thanks for sticking with me. And muchas gracias, Em! **

**A/N: During this chapter, the bits in italics are Dean's visions...you'll know what I mean **

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 3. Memories_

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, but they didn't have much time to wonder at the lady's cryptic words before she ushered them inside and walked down the hallway. After holding his brother's gaze for a second to quietly ask for confirmation, Sam entered first. His breath catching and as tense as a taut rope, Dean followed.

Somewhere past the staircase rooted on the living room there was a wooden door slightly ajar. Apparently, that was where the woman was headed. The kitchen, Dean knew at once. Unconsciously, he came a bit closer to Sam, almost close enough to brush his shoulder. Although there was nothing specifically familiar about the decor, a dizzying feeling of _deja vu_ crawled in the back of his mind, and he was trying hard to walk without taking his eyes off the woman's back. Luckily for his already shattering sense of self-pride, Sam wasn't paying attention to Dean's face. And if he registered his brother's slight move towards him, he simply took it as natural as he quietly scanned his surroundings with a concentrated frown. Sam was obviously tense too but showed no signs of recognition whatsoever.

Thank God, Dean thought.

Sometimes, when they were little, he had been jealous of Sam, because unlike Dean he would grow up with no memories of the terrible night and the fire that took their mother. Sam would never wake up in the middle of the night remembering how it was to have a mom around; to call for her in tears only to find she wasn't there anymore. Sam would never miss her and wouldn't freak out at the realization he was starting to forget her face. Sam would never grieve for her. For him, it would simply be as if Mom had never existed.

As years passed, though, Dean doubted he had ever been more grateful for anything than for the fact that his brother didn't carry that burden with him. At least one of them —the best of them— would have a chance to make it. Sammy would have a chance to be happy.

And then Jessica died and, with her, that only chance was gone, maybe forever. Dean couldn't say it to Sam, but he had been relieved it had been Jessica who had died instead of his baby brother. It was selfish, and he felt bad about it, but he would never regret it nor apologize for wanting his brother safe no matter the price. And of course, he wouldn't tell Sam either, that after seeing what Jess' death had done to his little brother, and after experiencing what his mom's death had done to his dad and to himself, Dean knew that if he had the chance, he would trade himself for his brother's girlfriend without a second thought.

"Please, this way," the lady announced. "Jenny, dear, you've got visitors!"

She pushed the door open, and Dean's heart skipped a beat when the change in light blinded him. His nostrils became full with the scent of homemade pancakes, and he gasped inwardly at the sound of a woman's voice and a child's giggle.

"_Sit down, baby," said Mary, placing a plate of pancakes in front of a three-year old Dean._

_He climbed onto the chair with a grin and swayed his short legs in the air while his mom went back and forth between the kitchen and the table. _

"_Mommy…can I have it with chocolate?" the child innocently asked._

_Mary tried to put on a serious face, but she couldn't help but smile._

"_Don't you think you had enough chocolate yesterday, young man?" she pointed out. "Beth's mom told me you had three pieces of cake at her party!"_

"_Two and a half!" Dean protested, as if that little factor was to make a great difference._

_Mary chuckled and sighed dramatically as she reached for the chocolate syrup. But instead _

_of handing it to the eager child who was waving his small hands and looking at the syrup _

_bottle with sparkling eyes, she poured it herself over the pancakes to make sure it wasn't too much. _

"_You know what happens to children when they eat too much chocolate, don't you?" Mary commented with a mischievous smile._

_Filled with curiosity, little Dean raised his eyes to meet his mother's and shook his head, all the while sporting a mouth full of chocolate syrup._

"_Oh, well, they…turn into chocolate cookies!"_

"_Mommy!" Dean laughed._

"_Wait…I think you're already becoming one…" Mary smiled, rubbing his nose on Dean's cheek. "And I'm going to eat you, yummy!"_

_Dean laughed again as Mary faked an attempt to bite his ear and tickled him playfully. After a loving fight, she pulled him into a warm embrace that was scented with roses and chocolate and then kissed his hair._

"_I love you, baby."_

"…Sam and Dean, they came about the noises…"

Dean landed back in reality with a jolt and looked around. He felt disoriented by the vanishing reminiscences that had just flashed in front of his eyes, and realized that he had just experienced a memory he didn't even know he kept, let alone was able to relive so vividly. He heard Sam speaking next to him, saying something about bugs. Shit, it was their alibi, and he was supposed to make the introductions. How long had he blacked out? Just a few seconds, he reassured himself, since Sam —with his most perfect mask of charming bug-killer prince— was just getting started with their story.

"Hi, I'm Jennifer."

Dean heard a kind voice to his left, and a blonde woman stood up. A little boy giggled from a playpen in the corner, and a girl slightly older raised her eyes with a curious frown. But of all of them, the black lady's eyes were the most piercing. Had she been staring at him all that time? Feeling naked and vulnerable, Dean fidgeted under her gaze, not liking it at all.

"And these are Richie and Sari. Say hi, kiddos," Jennifer added.

"Hello," the children said at the same time.

Before Dean could react, Jennifer had walked up to them and was holding her hand out. A gust of pancakes and roses enveloped her, and Dean felt his hand trembling as he shook hers.

"Hey," he mumbled. "Nice to meet you."

Jennifer greeted Sam too and then stepped back to turn towards the black woman.

"And you already know Missouri. She's my guardian angel," she said with a devoted smile.

"Oh, sweetie, that's so not true."

"C'mon, you know I mean it."

Spying Dean out of the corner of his eye, Sam smiled politely at the women's chat. His brother was pale and shaky, but Sam knew better than to make a fool of Dean by nudging him back to Earth in a room full of strangers. He knew that sooner of later, Dean's eyes would seek out Sam's. They always did. Well, Sam had to admit that both of them often sought out each other's gazes, if for nothing else than to check on how the other was taking the situation. And now, when it finally happened, Sam gave Dean calm, sincere 'Hey, bro' eye contact. For Dean, that was enough to trigger him back to his normal self.

"So, Ms Lincoln. This bug problem you might have…" the older Winchester cleared his throat and spoke. "Could you explain to us what kind of noises we're talking about? And how long has it been since they started?"

Jennifer mused on the answers to Dean's questions while she served cups of juice to her children. Then, she explained to the brothers that they had been hearing scratches for the last two weeks, but thought that they could have been there earlier. With all the rummaging of moving in, the noises may have gone unnoticed.

"Any other problems?" Sam asked. "Like flickering lights, strange vibrations…"

Jennifer arched an eyebrow, and Dean, having gained back his bearings, cast a chastising look at his too impatient and absolutely lacking in common sense geek brother.

"What Sam here means," he started, slapping Sam's neck mentally. The latter pursed his lips, as if he had physically felt it. "Is that some pests such as rats might mess with the wiring. Or damage wooden partition walls. Have you noticed anything like that?"

"Well, sometimes the lights act funny, but I didn't think… God, do you really think there might be rats?" Jennifer asked in disgust. Missouri smiled at her sympathetically.

"Mommy?" Sari called weakly. "Maybe it's that thing…"

"What thing, baby?"

"The thing in my closet…The fire…"

Again, Sam and Dean shared a look. Sam's eyes were frenzied, but Dean's carried a warning. They had already been too close to slipping up; it would be even weirder now if they showed too much interest in a child's nightmare, especially since Jennifer quickly dismissed it.

But that didn't mean they weren't going to make a mental note of it.

"Well, if you don't mind, we'd like to have a look around. You know, to figure out what it is that we're dealing with," Sam said, trying to sound casual.

Patting her little girl's hair, Jennifer frowned hesitantly.

"See, actually this is not a good time. I was about to take the kids to this family school thing and…I don't think I'd feel comfortable leaving you guys alone. I'm very sorry, but I'm sure you understand…"

"Sure…" Dean answered. What else could he say? Standing beside him, Sam was biting the inner part of his cheek as he racked his brains to find another way.

"Don't worry, Jenny," Missouri providentially intervened. Dean quivered at her voice, because he had almost forgotten she was still there. _Almost_. "I can stay until they're done."

Not really convinced, Jennifer sucked her bottom lip.

"You don't have to do that, Missouri. I already feel bad enough about how much help you've been giving us since we moved here. This would be too much."

"Don't be silly. I don't mind. Besides, I'm sure they won't take long. Am I right?"

"Of course," Sam quickly stated.

"Then," Missouri concluded, "It's all settled."

"You're sure?" Jennifer insisted.

"Positive. Now hurry yourself up, or you'll be late!"

Jennifer glanced at the kitchen clock and saw Missouri was right, so she acceded almost against her will.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Relieved to leave the kitchen at last, Dean exhaled slowly as they reached the second floor. That Missouri woman was giving him the chills, and he wasn't sure he could hold it together much longer if he stayed around Jennifer either. He wasn't exactly social, but he didn't use to have problems getting along with families. He had even liked that Lucas kid in Wisconsin. However, this time was different; this place was different. This place smelled of roses and pancakes.

Because of that, he had been taking short breaths during the last few minutes.

"Dean?" he heard his brother's voice next to him.

Dean just took out the EMF detector and turned it on. This simple gesture of "let's get to business" was enough to make Sam understand that his older brother didn't want to talk. But then, this signal hardly ever stopped Sam from trying to push Dean into an unwanted conversation. So it came as only a small surprise when, apparently considering they were far enough to keep their conversation unheard by the women on the ground floor, the younger Winchester touched his brother's shoulder.

"Can you tell me what happened to you downstairs?"

Saving himself from the hurt look on Sam's face by focusing on the EMF light bars, Dean clenched his fists and shrugged his brother off unceremoniously. Behind him, Sam grunted something under his breath, and Dean feared his kid brother wasn't going to let it go just yet. And that's when the hunter instinct in him caused him to attack first.

"What happened to _me_, Sammy? What about you? Flickering lights? Weird vibrations? Are you nuts?" Dean hissed.

Sam hesitated because the defensive maneuver had taken him aback. Sure, it had been a false move, but Dean was overreacting!

"Dude, don't turn it on me," Sam retorted, keeping his voice low.

"Don't turn it on y…?" Dean snorted. "You practically asked Jennifer if a poltergeist had asked her out!"

"That was not…I was trying to…" Sam clicked his tongue. "You know what? Never mind. Whatever you say, man."

"Great," Dean barked.

Sam sighed in defeat and ran a hand through his hair. Considering the conversation over, Dean went ahead to scan the hallway with the EMF detector.

"…_And 50! Dean, where are you?" called Mary's voice. "Ready or not…Here I come!"_

Bringing one hand up between his eyebrows, Dean halted and leaned against the wall. Unable to stop himself in time, Sam ran into him unintentionally.

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed.

The older Winchester's face was congested; he was panting now and didn't seem too steady on his feet. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, because his recent attempt at showing concern for Dean hadn't ended too well.

"What is it?" Sam finally asked, hoping it would sound less aggressive than 'Are you okay?'

Rubbing his forehead softly, Dean reacted instinctively to Sam's voice and straightened himself a bit before letting his hand fall. Wow. That had been weird, Dean thought, as he struggled to normalize his breath. Fucking madeleines…

"I bet this is Sari's room," Dean muttered.

A bit confused, Sam blinked, and it took a second for him to realize that Dean was talking about the door on the left; the one on which he was leaning.

"How do you know?"

Dean looked into Sam's eyes for a long moment, and then, with a blank face, waved the EMF detector in front of him. The light bars were dancing dangerously close to the red zone.

"Call me an observer."

Sam took a deep breath and glared at the door. His heart was pounding furiously, and he had to make the greatest of efforts not to burst roaring into the room. Instead, he controlled himself, held Dean's eyes, and waited for his directions. Dean puffed out a quick breath and tried his best to ignore the knot in his stomach —not a piece of cake, but something he could do well if the circumstances called for it. Informing his brother that he would be going first by nodding, he carefully pushed the door open.

Sam nodded back and brought his right hand to the back of his jeans where he kept his gun. When Dean disappeared inside the room, he could have sworn his chest was about to explode in anticipation. A moment later, he mimicked his brother and slipped into the room with similar trained movements, a hunter ready for action.

Truth be told, Sam was expecting his "sixth sense" to tickle, to get some kind of vibe…anything. But all he took in was a regular room, with toys scattered around, pastel curtains, and Disney posters on the walls. The racing rhythm of his heart was suddenly the only supernatural phenomenon around, and, weirdly enough, that fierce feeling of normality was disappointing.

"I don't feel anything," Sam muttered.

Dean sighed at Sam's frustration. He wasn't exactly tired of it, but rather was unable to find the mood to play nice comforting games with Sam. What on earth was Sam so impatient to find? And what the hell was he so terrified of? Rubbing his palms over his jeans, Dean realized that he was sweating, and the dull sensation that kept pounding over his eyelids intensified a few notches.

"You're not radar, Sam," he blurted. And then, referring to the walkman-like device in his hands, he added, "_This_ is supposed to be the damn radar."

Sam wet his lips and touched the furniture tentatively.

"Yeah, I know that," he conceded. "Are you getting anything?"

Dean was reaching to open the closet and wasn't turning around to answer, so Sam only had a view of his brother's back and couldn't imagine what his brother was thinking.

"Hide and seek," the elder whispered.

Sam cringed at the hollow sound of his brother's voice.

"What?"

"_I found you!" Mary announced cheerfully._

_Buried under a mountain of clothes in what he thought was the best of hiding places, Dean giggled inwardly but didn't move._

"_Oh my…I thought my son would be here," Mary mused aloud, trying not to chuckle at the sight of the not so invisible foot of her offspring sticking out from beneath a blanket. "But maybe I was wrong, let's see…"_

_Pretending she wasn't hearing her child's tittering, Mary little by little took off the garments under which Dean had curled himself up._

"_Let's see, maybe under this jacket…Nope. Then, under this parka…"_

"_Boo!" the child suddenly jumped._

"_Ah! You've frightened me!" Mary laughed and pulled little Dean out of the closet._

_Dean giggled again and threw his arms around his mommy's neck._

"_You didn't see me, right?"_

"_No! You were very well hidden!"_

"Holy crap," Sam whispered.

Startled by his brother's voice next to his ear, Dean gasped and reflexively tightened his grip on the detector. Without Dean being aware of it, Sam had somehow made his way to stand near the closet with him and was now peeking over his shoulder at the EMF readings. The little detector was showing high levels of paranormal activity. Snapped so brusquely out of the memory he had been experiencing, Dean felt lightheaded, and he had to shut his eyes to regain his balance. Nervously, he realized it had happened again. He had blacked out like he had in the kitchen, and it was starting to make him panic. Something was wrong. Those couldn't be normal memories; they were way too real. Something was pulling those images from him and playing them out in front of his eyes just like a fucking slide show. But what? And why? Not knowing made him feel exposed, _raped_. His throat tightened, and the older Winchester had to blink furiously to hold back the tears that pooled in his eyes. Luckily, Sam wasn't looking at him but at the flickering EMF readings.

"Looks like Sari was right." the younger stated.

"Yeah…"

"No wonder the poor thing is terrified. Do you really think she saw _the_ fire?"

"I don't know, Sam!" Dean shook his head and ducked around Sam to walk away.

"I know you don't. I'm just asking your opinion."

"I guess it would make sense," Dean commented distractedly.

"What makes you say that?"

"_Mommy, let's play again!"_

Dean pursed his lips and repressed the need to hold his head with his hands to block the voices. Sam didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, though. Sam was hearing nothing, was seeing nothing. He was just staring anxiously at Dean. For the latter, that could mean only one thing; whatever was coming, it was coming for him and not Sam. At least not yet. Who knew if the situation would stay that way, though? He had to send Sam away and do it now.

"You know what?" Dean said, ignoring Sam's previous question. "I think maybe you should go and have a look at the back rooms. I'll check the front wing."

Sam arched his eyebrows and stole a quick glance around before turning to Dean.

"You wanna split up?"

"No," Dean thought. But he forced out a more sensible answer. "We'll cover more space in less time."

"Yeah, but…"

"What, you scared?"

"Bite me," Sam retorted automatically.

"You wish," Dean gave a heartfelt chuckle, and Sam rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile loosened his features. "I mean it, dude. We may not have much time before that Missouri woman grows suspicious. We'd better gather as much information as possible before that happens."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Francis. Go."

Sam held his brother's eyes for a second —a long, excruciating second— but at last he gave in with a light nod and walked to the door.

"Be careful," Dean commanded.

His voice quivered a bit before he could prevent it, but he couldn't tell whether Sam noticed it or not. Most people would interpret his tone of voice as an order, and he only wished Sam would do the same this time, for his own good.

In fact, the younger didn't miss the tremble in his brother's voice but let it pass for the sake of the mission.

"You too," Sam cleared his throat and hesitated. "But Dean…"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"That it would make sense…that Sari might have seen the fire."

Dean frowned slightly and his Adam's apple wobbled under Sam's gaze, but he didn't answer. At first, Sam thought that maybe he hadn't heard him, or most probably, that he had no intention of replying. But then Dean gave a sad smile and shrugged.

"I guess 'cause this is where it all started. This was your room, Sam."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

EMF detector in one hand, holy water in the other, Dean walked cautiously down the corridor with all his senses on alert. Every shadow could be a menace; every sound, a familiar whisper dug out of his mind. But he wasn't going to let _anything_ get into him like that. Hell, he didn't let _Sam_ get into him like that, and this…spirit, demon, ghost or whatever it was wouldn't be more than his brother.

"I'm here, son of a bitch…come on out," Dean mumbled. "You wanted me, right? Come and get me…"

"_Now it's my turn, Mommy. I'll count!"_

"_All right, baby. But don't peek!"_

Dean groaned and slumped against the wall when the flash stung him. When he failed to take a breath, fear seemed to take control of him as it had done to the child that had stood frozen in the garden. The child he had been, the child that had yearned with his every conscious and unconscious fiber to get out and go back to the apartment with Sammy. But this time, instead of running away or calling Sam, he struggled to stand up.

"Where the fuck are you?" Dean confronted the empty space. "Stop hiding, you coward motherfucker!"

… _and 10! Ready or not, here I come!_

The light bars on the EMF detector went crazy and so did the jamming it copied. Dean removed the earphones with a muttered swear and threw them away.

"You want to play? All right!" Dean challenged.

Eyes aflame, the older Winchester glared around and kicked open the next door.

"_Mommy! Where are you?"_

It was his old room, exactly as it had been before the fire. But the moment Dean blinked, it was gone and replaced by another kid's —Richie's— pictures, toys and drawings. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

"I am so gonna kill you…" Dean gave a dangerous laugh. "Do you hear me, bitch? You can't hide forever!"

Dean opened door after door, and every time he found nothing but the empty indifference of a dusty floor with unpackaged boxes, or the reflection of his driven self in a mirror.

"_Mommy! I'll find you!"_

There was only one room left, and Dean approached it while grinding his teeth. Until now, he hadn't taken personally any hunt other than the ultimate target of the Winchester crusade: his mom's and Jessica's killer. But this job, oh yeah, it was definitely personal, and for the first time in two days, he wished it to be _the_ job as badly as Sam did. So with no hesitation, Dean pushed open the last door and strode firmly inside.

It was his parents' old room, but he already knew that before entering. That, and the fact that he wouldn't be alone. What he didn't expect was to see his mother, standing by the bed, beautiful and beaming, just as he remembered her. The vision was breathtaking, so clear and sharp that it made Dean's eyes hurt. The young man shut them tight and let out a short hysterical laugh.

"I know what you're trying to do," he grumbled with a cracked voice. "But I'm not going to let you mess with my head. I won't let you turn my memories of her against me…I know she's not real."

"Dean?" came Mary's soft voice.

Immediately stepping back to find the wall against his back, Dean shivered and opened his eyes.

"Baby, what is it? You look pale."

Dean shook his head and swallowed. She couldn't be talking to _him_. It was just another flash. A piece of a memory, he repeated to himself. Just a memory that was more real than all of his other ones. He was focusing on that thought with all his strength when Mary stepped towards him, and he felt his knees giving way.

"You…you're n-not r-real…" Dean stuttered, cursing himself for his stupidity and his weakness. There he was, talking to an imaginary projection of the past that was probably elicited from him by her killer demon. Only that, again, she was answering.

"What do you mean I'm not real? Of course I am," Mary smiled gently and came closer. "Come here."

Dean felt a sob knotted in his chest but refused to let it go.

"Honey?" Mary insisted.

Dean pressed himself closer against the wall. His hunter's determination vanished as a more primal instinct took over, and his brother's name found its way through his tightened throat.

"Sam!" he heard himself crying.

Mary's expression changed, and she gave her son a look that made him feel guilty about--he didn't know what, actually--but it made him ache.

"Why would you call him? We're together at last. The two of us."

Mary reached out to touch him, and when Dean felt her hand on his shoulder something cracked deep inside his soul. His body yielded, and while the room and the world blurred and spun out of control, he couldn't tear his eyes from the mesmerizing face of his mother.

"You found me…" she whispered.

She smelled of roses, and her arms were warm. Her words were the last thing that Dean heard before his world went black.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**4th chapter at last! I hope this is getting interesting! Thanks again for reading, and to all the reviewers, you guys keep me going.**

**And of course, thanks to Emrys. Mistakes are mine, whereas most of the things that make sense are probably my beta's **

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 4. Brother and Layer_

"Mom?..."

_Mary sat on the bed of her room, with her back against the headboard, as John affectionately caressed her belly. Both of them had tears in their eyes, but they were tears of joy. Laughing and crying at the same time, Dean's parents looked happier than ever, more in love than ever. At least more than any other time Dean could remember._

"_It's a boy," Mary whispered, her voice shaky. "Can you believe it?"_

_With a rapturous smile on his face, John placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and then on her belly._

"_Oh, Mary. I love you so much."_

"_A little boy, John…"_

"_A Winchester."_

_Mary laughed softly and ran a hand through her husband's dark hair while he rested his head on her lap. John gave a satisfied sigh and mused aloud._

"_He'll be strong. You'll see. I'll teach him how to protect himself, and those he loves."_

"_Oh, John..." Mary shook her head and cupped her husband's face with both hands. "Listen to me. I know you're a marine, and you'll always be. That's who you are, and I love you. But you have to promise me you won't turn our children into little Winchester soldiers. I want a son, not a warrior. Promise me that."_

"_Alright, I promise."_

_Mary's expression softened instantly and her lips found John's for a long moment. When they broke the kiss, they looked into each other's eyes and communicated without words as only real soul mates were able to do. After a while, John rested again on his wife's lap, and she slipped down to curl up with him._

"_We'll have to find a good name for him," John pointed out._

"_Yes…a beautiful name."_

"_Have you thought of any already?"_

_With a cute, shy smile gracing her face, Mary rolled a bit and propped up on her elbow to nod at John. She motioned him to get closer, so that she could whisper it in his ear…_

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Dean!"

A soft moan escaped Dean's lips, but the older Winchester didn't open his eyes. He didn't know where he was. The more he tried to grasp the vanishing thread of the vision, the more it turned into a terrifying void with no points of reference to hang onto. A void where concepts such as up and down lost their meaning, where the only thing he could bring himself to do was let go and float adrift into the nothingness.

"Dean, wake up!"

_Sam…_

It was Sam's voice that was calling him, but it sounded very far away. Around him there was nothing but darkness. It wasn't the kind of darkness he was used to fighting and beating, but a thick, empty, terribly scary one that was breaking him into pieces.

"Sam…?" Dean moaned.

_Why? Why would you call him?_ A voice echoed in his mind. He choked on the smell of roses and lost the feeble grip on reality that the distant sound of his own voice had provided.

"I'm here, Dean. Open your eyes."

Sam's voice was laced with concern, and Dean thought that something must be wrong with his brother. Maybe he was in danger. Knowing that he should be able to do it, that he was wired to get to Sam when he called, Dean struggled to pick out Sam's voice over the fog. His name on Sam's lips was a key, a password, enough to get Dean back on track no matter how far he was or how lost he felt. But damn, he was so lost now. Dad was going to be mad at him.

_No, but Dad is happy…he's happy with Mom…_

"Open your eyes," Sam repeated.

Dean tried to comply, he really did, but his eyelids were unresponsive, and the effort drained him. His heart rate took off to the skies, and he felt the bite of panic as never before. Muttering a shaky sob, he reached out in a blind attempt to find Sam, and clasped his brother's forearm.

_Sammy._

He felt his brother's hand placed over his, and that familiar contact brought Dean's senses back with a nauseous jolt. Up and down found their places in the order of the universe the moment he realized he was lying on the floor.

_Mom's room, _Dean thought woozily.

Sam's other hand was over his cheek, and Dean managed to roll his head a couple of inches to rest on his brother's palm. Then, he forced his eyes open and looked hazily around. But after doing so, the images of the vision blended with his regained consciousness, and the sensation of hovering over the void intensified. If Sam hadn't squeezed his hand in that very moment, Dean would have kept floating forever.

"W-where're we?" Dean slurred.

Trying to control his own fear, Sam took a second to reply. He had never seen his brother so disoriented, and he was clinging to him in a way that the Dean he knew would never do. But at least he was awake.

"In Jennifer's room, I think," Sam said.

Dean blinked and fixed a glazed look on his brother, who forced a tremulous smile to welcome him.

"W-What happened?"

"You tell me," the younger said, his voice softer now but still shadowed by fright. "I heard you calling me, then the sound of something falling. I found you unconscious on the floor."

"What…?" Dean stirred. "H-How long have I been out?"

"Just a couple of minutes," Sam rubbed Dean's cheek when the older hunter's eyes drifted closed again. "C'mon, man, stay with me."

Dean nodded weakly and gulped. His mind was slowly sobering, and he was starting to remember what had happened. He also realized that he was still grasping Sam's arm like it was a lifeboat. Embarrassed, Dean let go of him and tried to stand up. But the too quick motion took away the remains of numbness, and his head throbbed so painfully that the experienced hunter let out a groan and slumped forwards.

"Son of a…" he grunted.

Sam winced at his brother's pained expression and tried to hold him, but Dean shoved him off.

"Dean?"

"I-I'm…just give me a minute."

When Dean insisted on standing up by himself, Sam clenched his jaw and stepped back. It was no surprise to the younger Winchester when Dean failed miserably in his endeavor. Having to focus too much on synchronizing his own breath with the throbbing in his head, the most Dean was able to do was prop himself up to rest heavily against the wall. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sam snorted and walked away. Dean wet his lips and watched his brother pace up to the opposite wall where Sam stopped, giving him his back.

"Dude, are you oka…"

The younger Winchester punched the wall, silencing a startled Dean.

"Dammit Dean, don't you _ever_ do that again!"

Dean cringed at the not so repressed anger in his brother's voice, and his 'nothing-can-affect-me-smart-ass' brain started looking mechanically for a 'nothing-can-affect-me-smart-ass' comment to ease the tension. Unfortunately, his smart-ass retorting gears weren't functioning any better than his limbs yet.

"Relax, Sammy."

"Fuck you," the younger man glared at him.

"Sam…" Dean started in a warning tone.

But in the last moment, he held his tongue —_What the hell…?_— dumbstruck by the tears pooling in his brother's eyes.

"Is everything okay, boys?"

Missouri's voice took them by surprise and both brothers turned to face her where she stood in the threshold. When she spotted the older brother sitting on the floor, she became immediately alarmed.

"Oh my… what happened? Are you alright, son?"

Lying on the floor, weak and exposed in front of her, Dean felt something similar to self-conscious terror, and he flinched when Missouri stepped towards him.

"I'm fine," he said quickly as he struggled to stand up.

His heart pounded hard against his chest when, for a second, he thought he wasn't going to make it, and he shot Sam a glance full of despair. Despite the tension that had built between the two, his brother took in the silent plea and was by his side in the blink of an eye.

"We had a little accident, that's all," Sam assured Missouri, as the two Winchesters grabbed each other's arms, and Sam hauled Dean up. Before the older man could stumble, Sam held him by the elbow.

"Are you sure? You look a bit pale, dear. Maybe you should come downstairs and sit down for a while. I'll get you something to drink."

Dean shook his head weakly to refuse the offer, and Sam sensed he wasn't talking because he didn't trust his voice any better than his legs. His muscles were tense under his little brother's steadying hold, and he knew that his older brother wanted out. Dean hated being helpless anytime, but with Missouri there the vulnerability would be frightening for him. For Sam, it was a matter of common sense that Dean was overreacting, getting carried away by a twisted Winchester version of a self-preserving impulse, but the situation was enough to make Sam automatically go into protective mode.

"Thanks, Ma'am. But really, don't worry," Sam insisted.

With Dean's body language being that of a wild, frantic animal wounded in front of a predator, the situation was quickly growing uncomfortable. Maybe Missouri didn't notice Dean's discomfort, but Sam could read his brother through as clearly as a book. And although at any other time he would have been more than happy to force Dean to get some rest, in front of a third person loyalty would always kick in first.

"Don't be silly, kiddo. Just come to the kitchen and let me prepare some…"

"He'll be fine," Sam said bluntly, before realizing that he had stepped forward to stand in between Missouri and Dean. What the hell was wrong with the woman that she wouldn't leave them alone? "We should get going."

Sam eyed his brother to make sure he was still with them and was surprised to find a grateful look. Dean being grateful? Well, _that_ was worrying. They had to get out of that house and do it now. However, Missouri frowned, placed her hands on her hips and blocked their way.

"Sam and Dean Winchester!" she exclaimed. "I thought there was nobody as stubborn as your father, but you're proving me wrong!"

The brothers froze immediately like deer caught in headlights.

"What did you just say?" Sam croaked.

Looking first at Dean, who was stunned and had lost what little color he had left, Missouri sighed. She then spared a glance at Sam who was fixing her with a distrustful look.

"I'm afraid we've got to talk, boys." she said softly. "Let's go downstairs."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Leaning on the handrail for support and backed up by Sam's reassuring presence, Dean Winchester made his way downstairs by himself. "Sammy is here," Dean tried to regain control of himself. "Sammy is here…" In fact, a minute ago it had been Sammy and only Sammy that had prevented Dean from going berserk when his whirling mind was only screaming, "Out, out, out!"

In the kitchen, Dean slumped into a chair and leaned his elbows on the table so that he could hold his head up with his hands. Standing by him, Sam was leaning against the edge of the table, his arms crossed and his body taut. He was no longer the sweet kid whose puppy dog eyes bent any lady with the smallest trace of maternal instinct. A hunter had taken the kid's place. A hunter who was ready to jump on Missouri if she gave him the slightest reason and whose fuming look was almost scary.

Missouri wasn't in the room yet. Dean could hear her rummaging somewhere on the first floor, but couldn't focus enough to locate the origin of the sounds. He wasn't feeling exactly weak. Actually, the short trip from the second floor had been better than feared, since his body responded after the first couple of steps. He was just experiencing a weird sensation of detachment, as if his limbs were no longer his and obeyed his wishes only out of some kind of funny crossed line. Probably it had something to do with the excruciating pounding in his head —oh yeah, his head was still _his_— that made it hard to think coherently. Dean bit his tongue after an especially sharp throb and managed to turn the moan escaping his lips into a low throaty groan. He hoped that Sam wouldn't notice. Right now, he couldn't deal with Sam's pity, or Sam's scowling, Sam's worry, Sam's 'You deserve it' look, or whatever his brother had in store for him as punishment for being such a reckless idiot.

Through closed lids, Dean intuited his brother coming closer and tensed. A moment later, he felt Sam's hands touching his head gently. His first reaction, of course, was to jerk away, but the motion blew a new wave of pain across his skull, and the older Winchester ground his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed.

"Did you hit your head when you collapsed?"

"W-what?", Dean stammered, cringing under his brother's touch.

"Did you hit your head?" Sam repeated, as he stroked Dean's hair carefully.

The latter understood that Sam was looking for bumps or wounds and raised a hand to stop him, but Sam ignored both his whining and his too weak attempt to pull away.

"No…I don't know," Dean grumbled. "Please, _don't._"

"Dean," his brother said in a conciliatory way. "You can barely open your eyes. I just want to make sure."

"It's not a…" Dean's voice fell into a whisper. "It's not a concussion, all right? It's just a headache."

Missouri observed the boys from the kitchen door without intruding and took in their moving dynamics with a sad flash of pride.

"Ah, John," she thought. "If you could see them now. They're good boys. They don't deserve this." With a sigh, she stepped into the room. Immediately, Dean's eyes flew open, and Sam's lanky figure stiffened.

The woman's sharp mind evaluated the situation quickly. It was obvious that right now, both hunters considered her a menace and would stick together against her. In that sense, describing Sam's attitude as unfriendly was a huge understatement, and the woman's sympathetic glance did nothing to ease him. At least she was happy to see that the older brother had regained a bit of color, and his eyes were focused. That feverish, panicky look he had stared at her with upstairs was gone, replaced by a guarded need for answers. If she was able to find the right words, maybe _he_ would listen, Missouri thought. Only, it was hard to think of any 'right words.' Actually, she was pretty sure there was no right way to say what she was about to say.

Aware of their discomfort, Missouri slowed down and offered a glass of water and a couple of painkillers as an omen of peace.

"I thought you could use something for your head, honey." she said softly, her words aimed at Dean.

The latter fixed her with scrutinizing look.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," he replied, his voice even.

"Are you sure?" Missouri decided to push a little. Then, remembering John's aversion to strong painkillers, she added, "These are very mild. I promise, they won't knock you out."

Dean frowned at that and clenched his jaw.

_Don't you dare think you know me._

Missouri didn't need to be a mind reader to catch that.

"I'll take care of it," Sam intervened, holding out his hand.

His tone was unwavering, and the younger had positioned himself between his brother and Missouri once more. For some reason, Sam made Dean think of a lawyer in court, objecting firmly after a too vicious question directed at his client. Funny, he hadn't noticed how good Sam was at that. Too good to ignore that being a lawyer would have been his dream had he been allowed to have a normal, safe life.

"_I want a son, not a warrior…" _Trying to stay focused, Dean gasped and shook his head.

Dammit! It wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked Sam to represent him! He had only…allowed him to slip into a defensive role in a moment of weakness, but Sam had complied so naturally that Dean was feeling guiltier than ever for that distant job interview Sam had missed. For the life Sam had missed.

_He would have been a good lawyer._

Not that Dean had ever doubted it, but when that certainty sparkled consciously somewhere inside his splitting head, it made him feel proud, and sad, and safe. Safe against what, Dean didn't know. But for someone who hated losing control over anything, the faith that Dean had in his brother's abilities was now as priceless as air.

Appeasing, the black lady handed Sam the water and the pills and walked around the table to sit across from them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the brothers sharing a look. Dean's was defiant, just in case Sam wanted to take Missouri's side about the pills. Sam's was supportive, the most accurate translation being "Yes, I agree with her, but it's up to you." And then Sam left the water and the pills on the table so that his brother could make his own call.

After that, Missouri took a moment to start the conversation, because she felt the need to brace herself and because she was unconsciously waiting for Sam to take a seat. However, Sam remained standing, and he was the one who broke the silence.

"Who are you?"

_And the accused takes the stand…_

"My name is Missouri, as Jenny told you. And it's true that I'm a friend of the family."

"What do you know about our father?" Sam interrogated.

She wet her lips and spoke.

"I've known John from way back. Not long after Mary died, he contacted me."

"Why?" the younger pressed.

"I guess he wanted my help."

"What for?"

Dean's eyes flickered over his brother and then returned to Missouri.

"Well," she chose her words carefully. "He thought he needed me to figure out what happened to your mother, to know _what_ took her and then learn _how_ to fight it."

The brothers knitted a frown in unison. For them, it was hard to believe John had trusted anybody to such an extent. As far as they knew, he had no friends, let alone friends he would talk to about his quest. _Let alone _friends he would ask _help_ from. Don't let people know what you really do. That had been a rule carved in stone for the Winchesters, since…as long as Dean and Sam were able to remember, really. And yet, this Missouri woman _knew_ things; if they were to ask, she knew way too much. Sam felt cheated on; Dean felt unsettled, as if he were pacing a dangerous ground.

"And why…" Dean sounded a bit husky, and he stopped to clear his throat. Sam eyed him, then swallowed and stared at his feet. "Why would he think you could help him?"

Missouri didn't answer right away, and when she hesitated she felt Sam's eyes fixed on her.

"_Who_ are you?" the younger Winchester asked.

And though Sam had already asked her that, Missouri knew for sure he was now expecting a different answer.

"I'm a psychic," she stated matter-of-factly. "Same as you."

Sam flinched at the word as if he had been smashed with a sledgehammer, and his heart —in which psychic, psycho killer and monster all sounded pretty much the same— ached so badly that his hazel eyes burned with tears.

"What the hell do you think you know!" he blew up. "You know _nothing_ about me! You know _nothing_ about _us_! I'm NOT like you!"

Dean tensed in automatic response and shot Missouri a deadly 'Watch it' glare. It was irrational, Dean knew, but as far as he was concerned, anyone who made Sammy upset was in serious danger of getting his/her ass kicked, regardless of whether they were telling the truth or not. Sam would only be a psychic if he wanted to —what was this thing everybody seemed to have against good old denial?—and definitely not if he felt that being labeled as one was an insult. And anyone who dared to contradict that opinion was going to have a problem with Dean. Period.

"I understand it's scary, son," Missouri went on. "But you don't have to be afraid…"

"I'M NOT AFRAID!" Sam exploded.

Missouri gulped and fixed a pleading look on Dean. _Yeah, right_, Dean thought, accusatory. _First you call him a freak, then try to make it better by saying he's a pussy freak, and now you want me to get you out of it?_

But the issue was that his little brother was distressed, and that in Dean's book would never be good. So, ignoring his headache –among other things–, Dean took his big brother role back.

"Sam."

No "Sammy," no "Take it easy," no "Jesus, you know she's right, suck it up already." Just his name voiced without any trace of condescension was enough to force reassuring eye contact between the two brothers. Getting a grip on himself and averting Missouri's eyes, Sam exhaled and sat down for the first time during the conversation.

"I'm not afraid," he lied, his voice tense. Missouri let him have his fib. "I just…I'm not sure I understand what I saw."

"You saw that Jenny was in danger," was her simple reply. "That's why you're here."

"Jenny…does she know?"

"No, she knows nothing."

"But you said you were waiting for us…" Sam remembered suddenly. "How did you know we were coming?"

Missouri wasn't oblivious to the hopeful edge in the young man's question, even if he was likely to ignore it himself. He wanted to know if she had visions too, because although maybe it wouldn't lessen the feeling of being a monster, he would at least be less of a lonely one. Unfortunately, Missouri was going to disappoint him.

"Your father told me"

Judging by the young man's face, it was the last answer Sam had expected. But whereas he was at a loss for words, Dean had raised his eyes and could barely conceal his emotions.

"H-He got my message…?" the older muttered.

Wide eyed, Sam stared at his brother.

"Did you call Dad?" he asked incredulously, with the stabbed look of a faithful lawyer discovering that his client was keeping vital information from him.

Unable to face his brother, Dean focused on Missouri.

"Is he alright?"

Too confused by the sudden turn in events to tell the difference between his bitterness for Dean's "betrayal" and his own anxiety to know about his father, Sam pursed his lips and turned his attention to Missouri as well.

"He's fine," the woman assured them.

Both brothers released the breath they had been holding at the same time.

"Where is he?" Dean asked.

"I'm sorry, honey," Missouri lamented truthfully, "But I don't have an answer to that."

"But…it doesn't make any sense." Sam mumbled.

He suddenly sounded very young, and his eyes were turned towards his big brother with such intensity that Dean felt his throat tightening.

"If he knew that we would be here…" he tried to elaborate, but, aware of how lame that case was, his expression hardened almost imperceptibly. After all, their father had probably known of their whereabouts before, and still he hadn't bothered to give them a lousy call. "I mean, if you told him we might have found the thing that killed Mom, why isn't he here?"

Dean swallowed hard. His headache was getting worse, and he had started to finger the pills without noticing. Eyeing the older hunter with concern, Missouri spoke.

"I'm afraid that is the problem, Sam. What's inside this house, what's after Jenny's family, is not what you are looking for."

_Just a job…_Dean's head started spinning.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam wasn't ready to let it go. "Because you _feel_ it with your fucking third eye!"

"Because," Missouri replied, ignoring the boy's acid —and self-deprecating— remark, "I've been keeping an eye on this house for the last eighteen years, as John asked me to do. I've watched over every single owner it's had, and I've seen what the house has done to them. And I can say it is _not_ the thing that killed Mary."

"No!"

Sam stood up abruptly with a loud shriek, and Dean had to clasp his hands over the edge of the table to steady himself. Maybe the older hunter couldn't pick apart his feelings about the news yet —his was chest whirling into a turmoil of regret and relief— but Sam was definitely disappointed. More accurately, he was frustrated, and Dean had witnessed too many times how frustration affected his younger brother. Sam had expected this to be _the_ hunt; he had needed it to be _the_ hunt, because that and only that would make any sense in his guilt-ridden, normal-wannabe, psychic mind. Anticipating his outburst against Missouri, Dean couldn't help but remember all those terrible fights with his father. A great deal of them had been due to the fact that the old man had failed to understand that his younger son couldn't cope without seeing reasons and ends. Sam wasn't as good as Dean at accepting givens without seeking answers. And if Missouri considered that frustration wouldn't be enough to pitch an usually good-natured Sammy against a woman in her fifties, it was only because she hadn't seen much of the mess of anger, remorse and despair a frustrated Sam could be.

"Then, if it's not what killed our mom, what is it?" Dean heard himself asking, before his brother got out of line.

Dejected by how easily Dean had given in, Sam took a ragged breath, and the older hunter could literally feel the daggers with which he was looking at him.

Missouri bit her lower lip.

"She…uh, it's a restless soul."

"Like a…haunted spirit, you mean?" Dean pressed.

"Yes, dear. A haunted spirit, if that's what you call them," Missouri shut her eyes sorrowfully. "A restless soul bonded to the place where she met an early death 22 years ago."

As Dean's eyes dropped to the ground, Sam froze in the middle of the room and glared at Missouri in shock. She couldn't possibly be saying what he thought she was saying, could she? Suddenly, the younger Winchester felt an irrepressible urge to laugh and stopped himself only because he didn't want the others to think he was hysterical. This was insane.

"How _dare_ you?" Sam's voice was slow and dangerous.

"I'm sorry, boys. I know this is an awful way to tell you, but it's the only way. It's the truth. The spirit haunting the house is your…"

"Don't!" Dean yelled.

Sam jumped and turned to face his brother, who was burying his head in his hands.

"Dean?"

"Dean, dear…" Missouri shifted to stand.

"Stay away from him!" Sam shouted at her.

Missouri watched wordlessly as Sam squeezed his brother's shoulder. Dean was pale, too pale, and was shivering uncontrollably.

"Dude, c'mon…" Sam whispered.

"It's okay, Sam," Missouri tried to reassure him. Then, Missouri softly asked John's first born, "Dean, honey, why don't you tell us what you saw?"

Sam frowned and glanced at Missouri. What was she talking about? But then he felt Dean stiffening under his hand and watched, stunned, as his big brother started to talk.

"I dunno…" he mumbled hesitantly. "There were these flashes, like memories. Memories I had with my mom. Having breakfast in the kitchen, or playing hide and seek. And also with her and Dad when she was pregnant…I just…I thought it was normal, you know, being here and all. But I couldn't control them; they just popped up in my mind."

He raised his eyes ruefully to meet Sam's, whose hand had dropped from his shoulder. Sam seemed totally stunned, and he had that heart-breaking expression of betrayed counsel plastered back on his face.

"What else?" Missouri coaxed, "What happened when you lost consciousness?"

Rubbing his forehead, Dean shook his head lightly.

"I don't remember," he lied.

His voice was unable to conceal the pain. His head was about to explode, and on top of that, Sammy was pissed at him.

"Dean…"

"I said I don't remember, alright?"

"Leave him alone," Sam ordered Missouri dryly.

_Pissed, but loyal._

"Sam, you must understand this is very serious…"

"It's you that doesn't understand, Missouri. We don't know you, so why should we trust you? First you lie to us, then you say you've talked with our dad but then refuse to tell us where he is. And now you want us to believe that…that our... For Christ sake!"

"I just want to help you."

"Thanks, but we'll be just fine."

This said, Sam patted his brother's back with his best defending counsel's authority to let him know that they were leaving, and that he wasn't going to take no for an answer. However, Missouri stood up too, and she locked eyes with Dean in a way that made Sam shiver.

"If you change your mind…" she said. "Here, take my card, so that you know where to find me."

Sam pursed his lips when Dean reached out to grab the card before standing up wearily and following his brother to the front door.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Neither of them said a word during the drive back to the motel, at least not if Sam's grunt at Dean's deadly grip on the keys didn't count as a word. Dean wasn't fooled; it was only a matter of time until Sam considered that the truce was over and confronted him. A pissed lawyer keeping it together until he was back in the interrogation room with his client, Dean thought. He chuckled humorlessly at the idea as they entered the motel room, and he slumped to the nearest chair.

"So when did you call Dad?"

Funny that after all that had happened, that was what seemed to have hurt Sam the most.

"When we stopped for gas."

"Oh," was Sam's only response.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He should have been grateful that was all, but suddenly Sammy's silence seemed wrong and painful to bear.

"What?" Dean pushed.

"Nothing."

_C'mon, Sammy, don't do this to me._

"So what is this? The silence treatment?"

Sam gave a laugh as cheerless as Dean's previous one had been.

"Nah," the younger answered plainly. "But I hate when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Shut me out."

Dean's eyes lingered on his brother's for a second and then focused on the carpet.

"I wasn't…I just…Man, I dunno, al right? I should have told you before. Can we move on now?"

"Like you should have told me about your visions?"

_Funny, _you_ asking _me_ that, shining boy._

"They weren't visions," the older retorted tiredly.

"Whatever, Dean."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"Yeah, and you did a terrific job. But next time spare me the "finding my brother unconscious on the floor" part."

"Yeah right!" Dean howled. "Because you think you're the _only_ one who didn't enjoy that!"

"Goddammit, Dean! You knew something was going on, and you didn't tell me! Not only that, you sent me away! How stupid is that?" Sam raised his voice.

_How stupid was it?_

"You scared me, you know?" Sam's voice wavered, and the boy walked away to sit on the edge of his bed. "Geez, I thought…I thought I was going to find you suspended from the fucking ceiling."

Dean's lips trembled but any possible retort died before being uttered when the torn words of his brother sank in, and he saw himself as the bastard Sam thought he was.

"I'm sorry," the older finally said.

Sam clicked his tongue and averted his eyes.

"No, you're not. You're not," he replied resignedly.

Well, he wasn't. Not for hiding his visions from him, because the kid was worried enough by his own. Not for wanting to keep him away from the danger, because that was what he did and would do for the rest of his life. But he was sorry he had scared him, because if he had been in Sam's shoes, he would have died of a heart attack.

"Whatever, man."

And for a couple of minutes, neither of them said another word.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"She's not right, okay? Missouri. It's impossible."

It didn't escape Dean that Sam's voice was suddenly soft. Perfect, so now the kid was feeling obliged to comfort him?

"Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not going to apologize for wanting this over, Dean," Sam stated. "But this is not about me being blinded by a revenge wish, if that's what you think. It's about you believing blindly in the word of a perfect stranger. Because I can see that you believe her. But I mean, why do you trust her in the first place? Just because she says she knows Dad?"

Dean sniffed and shook his head.

"It's not like that."

"The hell it's not."

"This is not about Dad, Sam. And this is not about Missouri either. It's about _me_. It's about what _I _saw."

"I know. Flashes of memories coming back to you, I get it. But you said it yourself, to a certain extent that would be pretty normal, given the circumstances…"

"No!" Dean cursed himself for the tears that stung in his eyes. "You don't get it. I saw Mom... I really _saw_ her. And it wasn't a memory…she was there talking to me and then…"

His voice cracked, and Dean let it fall to control its trembling.

"And then you passed out," his brother finished for him. "She attacked you, is that it? That's what's been going on with you?"

Dean didn't answer.

"Dean," Sam said firmly. "Even if she did, that doesn't mean anything. Man, we've been there. Spirits that mess with your head and use what they find against you; spirits that take on someone else's appearance to materialize…"

"Yeah, yeah…spare me the lesson," Dean muttered under his breath and closed his eyes.

He didn't see him, but guessing from the silence that fell in the room, Dean could picture his brother rolling eyes and dropping his arms in exasperated renouncement. Good boy. How many times had he used the exasperation trick to get Sam off his back? After all, any sensible lawyer would eventually give up on his client if the latter was too fucked up to cooperate. Not that this client deserved so much attention in the first place, so why bother?

"How's your headache?"

Geez, this kid had a calling.

"Peachy," he mumbled.

Sam didn't buy it for a second.

"You look like crap."

Dean chuckled sadly.

"Thanks, Miss Kansas."

Ignoring the remark, Sam walked up to his brother and looked at him intently. Dean sensed his presence but failed to open his eyes, an action which did nothing to ease his little brother's concern. After a moment of thought, Sam ran his hands through Dean's hair and brought them over his temples.

"Sam…I told you I don't have a concussion," Dean quivered. "Stop doing that…"

But however much Dean wanted to push Sam away, he couldn't bring himself to fight him, for fear that if he did the throbbing would get worse, and he would break into childish sobs. It wasn't that he couldn't stand the pain. It was that for the last couple of hours, he had only wanted to curl up and cry, and Sam's gentleness was making it harder to hold it together.

"Sam, _please._"

"Be still," Sam hushed.

The younger brother pressed his fingers over Dean's temples and the latter gasped and bit his lower lip hard when his entire world spun white. In the next second the hammering subsided a bit, and Dean found himself panting and on the verge of tears again. But that had felt good. Sam resumed the pressure, drawing little circles with his fingertips, as his thumbs rubbed the back of his head. Dean held his breath until his brother loosened his touch, thereby sending a new flood of relief across his system. Then, Sam stroked his brother's forehead next and succeeded in soothing Dean's frown.

Dean recognized the steps with a pang of longing. He still remembered the times when he had done that for his little brother every now and then. Sam used to have terrible migraines when they were kids, mainly because he insisted on reading for hours in the dim light in the back seat of the car. Their dad would warn him first and scold him next; sometimes he would end up really mad at him, yet the kid was too pigheaded to listen. However, some nights, when they pulled over at the next shabby motel off the road, Sam would fail to conceal the symptoms. He would end up walking around like a zombie, grimacing at the slightest sound, and curling up into a ball whenever Dad wasn't looking. At that time, Dad kept the meds and the kid was too proud to ask for a Tylenol.

Of course, he didn't talk to Dean either, but a big brother doesn't need to be told to identify the signs. So he'd just gesture Sam to come closer, and he always obeyed, sheepishly at first, gratefully when he realized Dean wasn't going to judge him. Sam would eventually end up snuggled up to his brother in silence and would allow Dean to massage his head. After his brother had patiently untied knot after knot and the pain had vanished, Sam would doze off into a peaceful sleep. The next morning would find them cuddled together, but they wouldn't talk about it, the same way they didn't talk about most things going on in their rare lives. But while they were growing up it was only the few moments of closeness like these that made sense and kept them sane.

Truth be told, Dean was shocked and moved that his baby brother remembered their little practice. It was the first time the older allowed Sam to pay him back, and he was relieved to find that Sam was very good at it. When Sam finished and laid his hands casually on his shoulders, Dean took a deep breath and gulped, as if he were waking up from a reverie. His head was a bit numb and there still was a sort of echo of the headache pounding lightly across his skull, but at least he was able to think clearly and the dizziness was gone.

"Thanks."

"No prob. Need another round?"

Dean shook his head no and straightened up a bit —somehow, he had ended up tilting his head and was partially leaning against his brother. Sam didn't insist this time, but when he stepped aside he kept a hand over his brother's shoulder a bit longer than usual, as if Dean had forgotten to shrug it off, and for the same reason, Sam had forgotten to remove it.

"Listen, I think I'm going to take that shower," Sam informed. "We can do some research later and try to figure out what's really happening, okay?"

Dean nodded and heard Sam whisper, "Okay" before he stepped back and fumbled in his bag to look for fresh clothes.

"Hey, Sam," Dean called, just before his brother disappeared inside the bathroom.

"Yeah?"

"You know, you'd be a hell of a lawyer," he smiled.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and shook his head as if Dean had just gone crazy in front of his eyes, but still smiled back.

"Didn't you hear the latest news?" the younger played back. "It turns out I'm more into the psychic thing now."

"So what? You think that Perry Mason guy didn't have his quirks too?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam laughed. "See ya in a bit."

The younger Winchester went into the bathroom, and Dean was left on his own with a musing half-smile.

"Yeah, you too, little bro," he whispered.

And grabbing the keys to the Impala, he exited the motel room, closing the door behind him.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Last chapter revised! Dedicated to my beta reader Emrys. You're the best!**

**Thanks so much for your reviews, I'll update soon! Don't hesitate to leave your comments!**

**All mistakes are and always will be mine. I owe those. Unfortunately, I owe nothing more!**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 5. Control_

_One…_

When Dean was younger, he heard his father talk about the threshold of pain, how it was different for every person, how it could be managed. John never meant his sons to do anything about it; it was only a passing piece of knowledge he shared with them, just as the many names of dream walker spirits, or the correct way to pour holy water over silver bullets before loading a gun with them. However, for Dean being able to put a name to it meant that he should be able to control it.

_Two…_

It wasn't easy, but it was something that had to be done. In their job he was constantly exposed to all kind of wounds and injuries, and it was too dangerous to give in to ache before finishing whatever they were hunting at the time. For Dean, it became a matter of discipline. He trained himself in secret, using anything he found at hand, blades, needles, fire… One day Sam found out what he was doing, and he really hit the ceiling. The kid made him promise he'd stop. And Dean promised. And Dean lied.

_Three…_

He took no pleasure in self-injuring. It wasn't about that at all, but about making sure he would be able to hold a gun even if his hand was broken. To recite a Latin exorcism while a demon tried to gut him with a butcher's knife. To take his brother outside of a house on fire, even when the flames were already burning his flesh. Those were things that mattered, and they were worth a white lie.

_Four…_

He repeated the drill. One, two, three, four…until he was able to count up to five without flinching. And then he started it up all over again. Breathed in, ground his teeth, explored the pain, one to five, breathed out. And, boy, it hurt like hell, but every time he got to five was a little victory, a shot of confidence, a test of a strength he knew how to find and so a challenge he knew he could win.

Fear was a different thing, far more slippery. It was true that Dean was barely scared of anything, but it was also true that a few things scared him to death and made him unable to overcome those fears. Instead, he had learned to mask them. His most terrible dread —losing John or Sam— was kept at bay under layers of denial and a fierce readiness to throw himself between them and danger without a second thought. His second most terrible dread was losing himself. He was used to dealing with that fear from behind a thick wall of cockiness that had become virtually unbreakable and with a fierce avoidance of any situation that could make him feel vulnerable or exposed.

Until now.

They were back in Lawrence, and his smug façade had been shattered just a while ago in such an implacable way that he was still shaking like a five-year old child. There was no point in denial or a fake attitude, but there was no need for Sam to witness it either. Dean needed to collect himself before going back to his brother, but so far the feeling of having no solid ground under his feet had been too much for him to bear.

Well, after all, that's why he hated flying.

He needed to know he would be able to control the vertigo without putting Sam in danger. So, once running away had been ruled out as an option, Dean reacted in the only way he knew. He went back to the drill. The drill was safe ground. The drill meant control. Except that, parked across the street in front of his old house, the more he tried to discipline his fear the same way he had learned to discipline the pain, the more miserably he failed. Breathe in, grind his teeth, tear his eyes from the wheel, look up, start counting…

Choke.

_Dammit_

How was he supposed to do this, when his mom could be in there?

_One…_

When Sam wasn't there?

_Three…Jesus, Sammy, I can't. I just…Dammit. Goddammit!_

Breathe in, grind his teeth, tear his eyes from the wheel, look up.

_One…_

"_Dean? Dean, baby, I'm so glad you came back."_

The words echoed in his head, and all his determination was wiped out along with the air he kept in his lungs.

"_Sweetheart, why do you keep fighting me?"_

"_STOP IT!"_

_Focus, Dean. Try to…_

Fight tears back. Breathe in…

_One…_

"_Dean, please. You can't do this."_

She was too right. He couldn't.

"_Dean, come to me. We'll be together, the two of us. Together at last."_

For heaven's sake, where was John when he was needed? All those times he had entered the house, all those times Dean couldn't follow, had John gone through the same pain? Where was he now? Why wasn't he here? WHERE WAS HE?

_How did you do it, Dad?_

Defeated, Dean swallowed hard and turned on the engine to drive away.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

When Sam left the bathroom, he found out that both Dean and the Impala were gone. The younger hunter frowned and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was around 1:30 PM, so maybe his brother had gone out to grab some food. Although he seriously doubted Dean was in the mood for eating now, he could have used the excuse to go for a drive. Sam knew his older brother well enough not to bother him about his wanting some space after what had happened. On the other hand, exactly because of what had happened, Sam couldn't help but be a bit worried about having Dean out of his sight.

_He should have left a note, that jerk._

But of course, Dean wasn't the note leaving type. In fact, it was sort of a relief that he hadn't found one on his pillow, or he would certainly think Dean had been kidnapped and tortured into writing it. As much as he wanted to pick up the cell phone and check on Dean, Sam displayed enough self-control to take a deep breath and trust that his brother would be okay on his own for a while. In the meantime, the best he could do was to try to figure out what was going on in their old house. If he really wanted to do something for his brother, he should be proving to him that whatever was in their old house had nothing to do with their mom.

With this idea in mind, Sam buried himself into what he did best. Research. Using the information they had gathered earlier, Sam did some more digging into Rebecca's background and tried to find something, _anything_ that might link the recent events with the family. But again, he found nothing. At least nothing useful in terms of justifying the existence of a pissed supernatural presence that wanted to mess with his brother's head.

And thus two hours slipped by. Sam's aggravated stomach growled, but he refused to go for lunch until Dean was back. He had to be back soon.

Flipping through his dad's journal pages, Sam searched for any reference to entities with power over his victim's memories that were able to create illusions and at the same time manifest themselves into several shapes, like a person, or a blaze of fire. But none of the entries mentioned any creature able to do all these things at the same time. Sure, a poltergeist would explain flickering lights and noises, but not Dean's visions. There were some spirits that could take several forms. But none of them had registered abilities to intrude on another person's mind and play with it. That seemed related more to the various forms of witchcraft and psychic stuff —Sam shivered against his will—which could also explain part of the other signs, but not the fire.

An hour and a half more. No news about Dean. Sam wasn't even hungry anymore, since his stomach had tightened with concern that he would not voice. Vocalizing concern would make it real, and he refused to do that.

Of all the strange creatures his family dealt with, including witches, spirits and poltergeists, demons were the most diverse and the least understood. And as sure as hell, for Sam and his family, they were the most wanted. As far as Sam was concerned, no evidence had ruled out _the_ demon yet. Who knew what other powers it possessed besides fire abilities? Sam rubbed his eyes and sighed as a way to prevent the image of Jessica pinned to the ceiling from making him lose his focus. Dean's words suddenly came back to him.

_You gotta be prepared to accept that this may be just a job, like any other._

"Yeah, right," Sam said to himself. "Prepared as in prepared to accept Mom's turned into an evil spirit that we've got to finish off."

The undeclared thought alone was appalling, and his mind refused to go deeper into it. Instead, his thoughts shifted to Dean, and after a quick glance at the clock, Sam's chest tightened even more. Five hours had passed. And it would soon get dark.

Still, he stood firm in his determination not to call his brother. Dean wouldn't like it. Dean would call him if he needed to. At least, that's what Sam hoped his older brother would do, because, honestly, after the last two days, he didn't know what to think anymore.

_Where are you, Dean?_

His determination faltered, and after an extra half an hour of pacing the room, Sam grabbed the phone and dialed his brother's number. But he got no answer. Not the first time, not the second time. And neither on the third.

_He should be back soon..._

Resuming his unconscious fidgeting with the cell phone, Sam forced his attention back to the journal. With a nervous sigh, he decided to go again through all the references his dad had written about Mary's and Jessica's killer. Line by line, syllable by syllable, in order to not leave any detail unexplored.

It was then that he saw it. If he had read it before, he didn't remember. Maybe he just hadn't noticed, or probably had given it no importance. But now it was so brightly obvious that it was almost painful to see.

"Go to Missouri."

Not only once, but written several times, in different pages and on different dates. "Go to Missouri," "Call Missouri." All written in his dad's familiar handwriting. Sam couldn't believe his eyes, and a lump started to form in his throat.

_She wasn't lying._

Why was everything falling apart? Why did it always have to?

Frustrated, Sam threw the journal against the wall. And despite the pang of guilt he felt the second it left his hand, he made no move to retrieve it.

"I don't believe it," Sam said aloud, to the empty room. "I don't believe _you_!"

Suddenly, the room's phone rang, and the younger Winchester literally jumped. He had to take a moment to collect himself and to normalize his breathing before standing up and going to the bedside table to pick it up.

"Yeah?" he asked in a guarded tone.

He knew that it couldn't be Dean because his brother would have called Sam's cell phone. Consequently, part of him was really expecting to hear Missouri's voice on the other end of the line. And she'd probably be infuriated if she had psychically envisioned his outburst.

"Mr. Jones?"

Sam frowned in confusion, but then remembered that 'Jones' was the name they had given during the check in. Still, he was cautious in his reply.

"Who is this?"

"It's uh…Michael Tyler, the motel owner. Sorry to disturb you, but there's a call for you, and it seems important."

"What is it?"

"It's the police. About your brother."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam Winchester drummed frantically on the door handle with one hand, while chewing nervously on the knuckles of his other hand. The police had called from _Robert's, _a bar located on the outskirts of town. It was only a short cab ride to the place, no more than ten minutes, but for Sam it felt like the trip took ten years. The fact that the phone conversation he had had with the police was playing incessantly in his head during the entire ride didn't make the time pass faster.

"_Mr. Jones?"_

"_Yeah, it's Sam Jones. What happened to my brother?"_

"_Your brother's name is Dean Jones?"_

"_Yeah!" Sam was near to yelling at the receiver by then. "Where is he? Is he alright?"_

"_He's at Robert's. We got a call about a fight, and I'm afraid he was involved in it."_

"_What?" Sam said as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. "Wait, what's…where's that?"_

"_It's a bar, Mr. Jones, at the northern end of town…"_

"_IS HE ALRIGHT?" Sam said, cutting the stranger on the other line off._

_The man on the other end hesitated slightly, but it was a pause long enough to make Sam's concern shoot skyward._

"_He's fine. A bit beaten, but he seems to be a tough kid."_

_Realizing for the first time that he had been holding his breath, Sam exhaled slowly._

"_What happened," Sam asked. Thanks to his many years of preparation, his voice could pass for steady, even when he was still shaking on the inside. In fact, the question was in part a strategy he used to gain some time to collect himself._

"_Apparently he got into a fight with four guys. It was about a pool game."_

_Sam snorted and shook his head. _Four_ guys? In a bar? About pool? God, he had to be kidding. Either that or his brother had gone completely nuts._

"_Has he been arrested?" Sam asked, prepared to accept the unavoidable._

"_Nah," the policeman answered calmly. Sam arched an eyebrow. If Dean wasn't being arrested and the cop wasn't lying about how badly beaten Dean was, why was he calling him in the first place?_

"_Listen, son," the officer continued in a paternal tone that Sam wasn't especially crazy about. "These guys I told you about? Well, they're a bunch of thugs, and they've been causing trouble for months. I don't know who started the fight, and honestly I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, your brother seems to be a good guy, and he was getting the better of the four when we got here. The bar owner's not going to press charges against him, but if I were you, I'd keep him out of trouble for a while. One of the guys had a knife, so believe me, it could have been worse. Your brother was lucky we got there before it got really ugly. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Now, I need you to come and pick him up. We can't let him drive in his state"_

"_But…you told me he was alright," Sam said, and his voice wavered a little. "Why can't he drive?"_

"_It's not because of the fight. Apparently he had some drinks beforehand."_

The cab slowed down and pulled over. Sam carelessly tossed twice the price of the ride to the driver and got out of the cab almost before it stopped. He studied the surroundings as quickly and thoughtfully as the hunter in him had learned to do long ago and immediately spotted the Impala parked on one side of the lot and a police car parked next to the bar entrance. There were some people gathered there, but none of them was Dean. Then a uniformed policeman caught his attention and gestured him to come closer.

"Mr Jones?"

"Yeah, yeah", Sam nodded, recognizing the voice on the phone. He was starting to get fed up with that particular alias. "Where's my brother?"

The cop, a pretty well built man in his forties, furrowed his brow at Sam's unconcealed anxiety. Of course, he could understand the young man's concern about his brother. Yet he had expected Sam to be far calmer, especially since he had already assured him Dean was fine. Sam acknowledged his anxiety and tried to compose himself, but he couldn't conceal a look of impatience. Even knowing that Dean wasn't in immediate danger —other than Sam kicking his ass in a matter of minutes— he wouldn't be really relieved until he could see him sound and safe with his own eyes.

With an understanding smile, the cop, that introduced himself as Deputy Ted Jackson, stepped aside and motioned towards the alley at the back of the bar. There was a dimly lit wooden bench there, and finally Sam saw his brother. Dean was sitting on the bench with his body slightly bent forward and one arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. His head was resting in his hands, and Sam's body immediately tensed when he noted Dean's defeated posture. The only reason why the younger man didn't immediately run towards his older brother was the authoritative presence of Deputy Jackson.

"Where are they?" Sam grunted, without tearing his eyes from Dean.

The coldness in his voice could freeze the desert, and as a matter of fact, it made the older man shiver. Luckily for them all, the officers that had answered the call had already taken Dean's aggressors away.

"They're not here. Three are in the policed station, and the other was taken to the hospital with a broken wrist," he said. He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and serious. "Forget about them, son. I mean it. Let us do our job."

Sam didn't answer right away.

"Mr Jones," Jackson insisted.

"I get it," Sam accepted, releasing some of the tension. "Don't worry."

"We offered your brother a ride to the hospital too," the deputy said. Quickly, observing the worried glance Sam shot at him he assured "He's fine, but we thought that if anything we should, you know, get him properly checked out. But he didn't want to hear about it. Maybe you could convince him."

With a hint of a smile, Sam looked back at Dean's silhouette.

"No, it's okay. He hates hospitals." Sam said, shaking his head. "Thanks anyway."

"Okay then. Here," Jackson said, handing the keys of the Impala to Sam. "I had to take them from him, and I can tell you he didn't like that."

"I bet," Sam muttered rubbing the cold, steel keys absently.

"He didn't want us to call you either."

His eyes never leaving Dean, Sam chuckled softly. Deputy Jackson assumed it was time to let Sam take it from there.

"So, if there's anything you need…"

"We'll be fine," replied Sam automatically. "Thank you."

"Remember what I told you earlier."

"Stay out of trouble. We will, I promise."

Deputy Jackson nodded, and Sam started walking towards Dean.

"Sam!" the cop called him one last time.

The younger Winchester stopped reluctantly and turned around to face the deputy. He was taken aback by the piercing look the cop was staring at him with.

"The bartender said he…your brother was asking about this John Winchester guy," Jackson said, and Sam's expression turned as unreadable as stone. "I used to know someone with that name, and I was wondering…you wouldn't be related to him, by any chance?"

Both men stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. As good as he was at reading other people's minds —and not particularly through his psychic abilities— Sam wasn't sure if what he saw in the deputy's eyes was suspicion or rather a glimpse of recognition; recognition of the soft features he'd got from his mom, or the sharp glance both his brother and he had inherited from his dad. Regardless, at the end of the moment Sam pursed his lips and shrugged.

"No," he answered evenly.

The deputy studied Sam for a few seconds more. After that, he sighed and dismissed Sam with a tiny bow of his head before heading back to his car.

"You two take care."

Sam nodded and walked over to Dean.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam approached the bench slowly. The dim light of the alley allowed him to have a first impression of his brother's injuries: a split lip, a streak of dry blood across his temple, a black eye. Judging by the way Dean was holding his arm around his body, it was easy to guess that the bruising under his brother's T-shirt was extensive. The image of four guys bringing Dean to the floor and kicking him flashed in front of Sam's eyes and a renewed pang of rage flared inside his guts.

Jackson had been right; generally speaking, his brother was fine. Actually, Sam had seen Dean in a far worse shape too many times before, and so he knew there was no real reason to worry about the injuries. It was just that Sam didn't think that he could ever get used to seeing his brother hurt. And on top of that, Sam was too angry at the way Dean had gotten himself so stupidly beaten.

Even though the older hunter didn't move an inch, Sam was perfectly aware that Dean sensed him. Towering over the sitting man, Sam stood in front of the bench. At first, neither of them said a word. And then Sam broke the ice. With a bucket of cold water.

"Had fun?"

Dean raised his head slowly and Sam saw that his eyes held a weird look. They were glassy from alcohol and a share of pain, but still defiant. It was a look that clearly said: "Don't. Don't go there, little brother."

"Lots," was Dean's growled reply.

"Can you tell me what we're doing here?"

"I'm getting some fresh air," Dean replied cynically. "You?"

"Deputy Jackson tells me you were asking for Dad," Sam said impassively.

"Deputy Jackson? You mean the nice bastard that took my keys?"

Sam laughed humorlessly at that and held Dean's stare without flinching.

"So what's your story? That maybe, since Dad wasn't sitting at the bar you might find him in the bottom of a bottle?"

Dean's expression faltered, and in the moment before it turned really inscrutable, Sam glimpsed something else: a deep emotion he could not identify. It worried him and hurt him at the same time. But before he could do anything about it, Dean replied dryly with a cocky look on his face.

"What can I say? The man is a slick one."

"Do you think that's funny?"

"You tell me, you're the one being a smartass here."

"Who the hell are you? And where's my brother?" Sam asked, barely keeping his tone even. "Because my Dean is many things, but he's sure as hell not this stupid."

Dean's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't you dare look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you pity me. I don't need your pity, Sam," Dean hissed.

Sam felt the frustration rising in him and shook his head. He felt the influence of the old magic formula that quickly converted fear into anger, the second emotion burning with a ferocity that could only be described as proportional to the intensity of the first.

"I don't pity you. I'd need to know what the hell is going on with you in order to pity you!", Sam screamed.

"Nothing is going on, alright?"

"Are you fucking out of your mind!" Sam exploded. "You take off without saying a word, don't answer the phone, get drunk in a hole and pick a fight with _four_ guys!"

Dean narrowed his eyes and smiled scornfully.

"Oh, and why are you so sure _I_ started it?"

"Ah, please, cut the crap!" Sam snorted. "I'm tired of it."

"Fine!" Dean blurted back. "Because I'm tired of you!"

"You know what? That's great!" Sam yelled, raising his arms in annoyance. "But remember, it was _me_, not _you_, who had to take a cab all the way here after the _police_ informed _me_ that _my_ brother is a complete ASSHOLE!"

"I TOLD THEM NOT TO CALL YOU!" Dean howled back, standing up to confront Sam.

The sudden movement made the older brother wince in pain, and the little color he still had left was drained out of his face as he shut his eyes and tried to keep dizziness at bay. Sam bit his lip and an important part of the previous rage melted into a cold void in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively, he took a step forward, towards the unsteady form of his brother, and tried to hold Dean by the arm, but the older hunter roughly shoved him off.

"Don't touch me!" Dean shouted, jerking away from his brother's grasp and staggering back to find the wall against his back. Then, to himself, he slurred as he tried to catch his breath, "Dammit…"

The younger Winchester pursed his lips and tried not to lose his temper again, but when Dean swallowed hazily and used the wall to prop himself straight, Sam felt his bile rise and anger took another hold on him. Maybe Dean's day had sucked, but so had Sam's. For two times in less than 24 hours he had feared for his brother's life, and he didn't remember ever being that scared before. And although he thought they had sorted this all out in the morning, _together_, it was as if no matter what Sam did, Dean would find a way to do something brainless to put himself in danger. Sam had had enough. And enough was _enough_.

"Know what? FINE! I don't know why I bother in the first place."

"Good, you got it at last!" Dean sighed dramatically.

"But hey, next time you plan to get killed, leave a fucking note!"

"What for? So you can come and shoot me yourself!" Dean blurted, his words full of venom. "AGAIN!"

Sam froze. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He looked as if he had been struck by a sharp pain in his chest that left him breathless. Those words hurt, they hurt too much. His blood turned to fire, and he felt every fiber within him boiling with anger and begging to be unleashed. His eyes wet, his body shaking, Sam advanced towards Dean, who awaited him with 'challenge' written all over his face. Dean was daring him, begging him to take a swing at him. And Sam was so willing to humor his wish.

Until when, in the last second, a voice in his head whispered, "Don't."

_Don't take the bait._

And the moment Sam listened to that voice, his eyes were able to see past Dean's provoking front. His brother's complexion was so pale that the blood across his temple looked strikingly dark in contrast, and his skin had an unhealthy, shiny quality borrowed from the sheen of sweat that covered the rest of his face. Dean's breath was also pretty irregular, and it seemed as if he was sick. Sam guessed that it was nothing but stubbornness that kept him on his feet. Dean was going to collapse at any moment, and Sam hated him for still trying to play the familiar exasperation trick despite that fact. Well, _because_ of that fact. But in that moment, Sam didn't hate Dean nearly as much as he hated himself for being so close to falling for his brother's defensive tricks all over again.

"Just…get in the car, Dean," Sam said, panting and locking his eyes with Dean's. "We're going back to the motel."

Dean seemed confused and surprised by the sudden change in Sam's attitude. Was that disappointment? Yeah, Sam was sure that was exactly it but still couldn't understand why Dean wanted him to get mad at him so badly.

"That cop took my keys, remember?" Dean informed Sam with an irritated tone.

"Yeah, but I got them back," Sam waved the keys in front of Dean's eyes.

The older brother snorted, then inhaled deeply and extended his hand. Sam gave him an astonished look.

"What?"

"Give me the keys, Sammy," Dean ordered. His look was testing now, and Sam felt he was being sounded out.

"It's Sam. And you're not driving, Dean. You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk", Dean protested, reaching out to take the keys from Sam's hand.

"What is wrong with you, man?" Sam said, dodging him. "There's _no_ way I'm letting you drive!"

"GIVE ME THE DAMN KEYS!" Dean said, lashing out and throwing a punch at Sam.

The blow took Sam by surprise, and the younger hunter stumbled backwards when Dean's fist connected with his jaw. He fell heavily on his back with a groan and before he knew what was happening, Dean was standing over him. Dean tried to pull the keys out of Sam's grasp, but Sam reflexively clenched his fists and struggled for them.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, forgetting about the throbbing of his sore lip. "Stop it! DON'T!"

Dean was strong, probably stronger than Sam, but he wasn't in his best shape and once the element of surprise had vanished, Sam was able to kick him away. As Dean crashed against the side of the bench with a low thud, Sam crawled back to his knees and glanced at his brother, who was curled and shaking on the ground.

Looking around and feeling at a loss for what to do next, Sam stood up and raised both hands to the back of his neck. Eventually he dropped his arms in despair and performed a self-assessment. His heart was beating so hard against his chest that he was amazed his ribs still took the pounding without breaking.

"Jesus, dude. What's your problem?", Sam panted.

Dean wet his lips and looked anywhere but at Sam. It was a clear sign that he was embarrassed. Grabbing the bench to prop himself up, the older hunter leaned back against the wall. After shoving the keys inside his pocket, Sam went back to his brother and crouched next to him.

"Now look at me, you jerk."

Dean ground his teeth and tried to avoid Sam's eyes and proximity by merging with the wall. Unfortunately, the damn wooden surface didn't let him in.

"That hurt. But you know what hurts the most?" Sam muttered with a dejected tone. Dean raised his eyes uneasily as Sam's tone of voice tore down all his defenses. "That you insist on trusting anyone but _me_!"

"That's not true, Sam," Dean said hoarsely.

"Isn't it? This Missouri woman appears and you believe all her bullshit. Just like that," Sam said, snapping his fingers. "And then you're upset, but instead of coming to me, you go off looking for Dad! _Dad, _Dean? He's been missing for months, and in all this time he's sent no sign whatsoever he gives a damn about us anyway."

Dean was going to retort, but Sam spoke before his brother could interrupt him.

"Why don't you talk to _me_, Dean?" his voice was near to breaking. He had to say it. He needed to ask, "Why not _me_?"

The older brother clicked his tongue and shook his head slightly, very slightly. The world was spinning too fast for him to push his luck.

"Because you wouldn't understand it, Sam," Dean replied warily. "You don't want to understand it. You don't want to believe it."

"Dean, this is crazy!"

"And you want to know why?" Dean went on, "Because you're a selfish bastard, Sammy, that's why. Just like Dad."

Sam stared at Dean in silence with a hurt look plastered on his face, a look that he might have worn if he had just been stabbed in the back. But the more he wanted to deny his brother's words, the guiltier they made him feel. Before he could stop them from forming, tears welled in his eyes, and he angrily wiped them away. Dean had suddenly found the ground extremely interesting, because no matter what the circumstances, he could never bring himself to watch Sam crying. However, when the younger man stood up, Dean anxiously tracked his pacing and didn't dare blink in case Sam magically vanished.

"Is that what you think?" the younger Winchester whispered, giving Dean his back.

Dean shut his eyes and buried his knuckles between his eyebrows.

"Sam, I…"

"Maybe you're right, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you crash into a tree, Dean," Sam sighed and turned to face his brother. "Just…let me drive you back to the motel, okay? _Please_."

Too exhausted to keep on arguing, Dean leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the sky. After all, Sam had him after that damn little word. _Please._

"Okay."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Alone with his thoughts, Sam drove in silence but tossed anxious looks at his brother in the passenger seat every few seconds. Dean was leaning against the window, eyes closed, but Sam knew he wasn't asleep, because now and then he stirred, blinked dazedly, licked his lips and swallowed. Sam also knew that his brother wasn't asleep because when asked if he wanted water, Dean automatically shook his head no and smiled weakly at Sam. The younger brother was glad Dean wasn't looking at him directly just then, or he would have noticed that the aftermath of anger had left Sam on the verge of crying. He just couldn't shake off the feeling that although his brother was physically sitting next to him, he was losing him to some place he couldn't reach. And it was all his fault.

_We shouldn't have come here._

Dean fidgeted in his seat and absently grabbed the edge of it. Sam caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and glanced at him sideways. The way he grasped the fabric reminded Sam too much of the way he had grabbed his arm a few hours earlier, when he had regained consciousness in their old house. After a couple of seconds Dean loosened the grip, but pressed his forehead harder against the window. He was mumbling something, but over the roar of the engine, Sam couldn't tell the words apart. Somehow he sensed that he was not supposed to hear them, but he slowed down anyway. At the very least, slowing down would make the drive a bit smoother for his brother and his whirling world, since so far it didn't appear to be specially settling.

Dean was a good drinker. He enjoyed it, and many times it helped him relax and crack a few laughs. But Dean also knew when to stop and would certainly do so before letting it get out of hand. Dean and "out of it" were concepts that didn't coincide at all simply because his older brother was a control freak who was too strict with himself to let it happen. For good or for bad, that was just the way Dean was. Until tonight. Tonight and by his own hand, he had thrown himself into a daze. And judging by the way he grabbed the seat again, Dean wasn't enjoying the feeling.

A couple of seconds later, Dean released the seat, and breathed in and out. He hadn't opened his eyes in a while now, but his lips kept moving, forming soundless words.

It was then that Sam realized that his brother was counting.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam pulled over as close to their room as he could and walked next to Dean to help him to the door. Of course, Dean had every intention of walking on his own, but he didn't shove his brother's hand off when his staggering pace made him lean towards Sam's body involuntarily. The younger Winchester placed his hand loosely in between Dean's shoulders to steady him. Together, they made it into the motel room, and Dean sank wretchedly onto his bed. Sam closed the door behind them and turned on the lights.

"Turn them off," Dean groaned.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. "I have to check your injuries."

"They're just scratches," Dean slurred against the pillow.

"On your back," Sam commanded, retrieving the first aid kit and sitting on Dean's bed.

Dean complied and rolled on the bed with a grimace of pain. When he finally managed to lie on his back, he looked paler than the sheets. His breath was labored, and Sam warily eyed the erratic rising and falling of his brother's chest.

"Hard to breathe?"

"Not hard," Dean lolled his head to the side, as if he was going to shake it negatively, but failed to end the gesture. He ended up resting on his cheek instead. "Just aching."

Worried, Sam reached out to lift his brother's shirt. The sight of Dean's firm stomach raw and bruised made him gasp.

"Jesus," Sam croaked.

"Looks worse than it is," Dean said, playing it down.

"But Dean…"

"You knew you left the laptop on?"

Sam frowned at the unexpected question and followed his brother's eyes to find his laptop opened on the table with the screensaver flashing.

"Yeah, I was…I was doing some research when they called me. I guess I forgot about it," Sam said dismissively.

"Found anything?"

Surprised by Dean's sudden interest, especially after their fight at the bar, the younger Winchester fidgeted nervously. He didn't want to talk about his research now, because no matter what he said, all his theories would inexorably lead to him being labeled a selfish bastard. A selfish bastard who was unable to "believe" as Dean had so clearly put it.

"Sam?" Dean insisted.

"Nothing really," Sam said, shrugging. "Nothing able to mess with people's memories, appear and disappear, create illusions and manifest as fire."

"Oh."

"But I…I found these references to Missouri in Dad's journal. Apparently she wasn't lying when she said she knew him. Guess that makes you happy," Sam ended with a bitter edge.

Instantly regretting the comment, Sam busied himself with the first aid kit. Even though there might be nothing he could do with the bruises on Dean's torso other than wait for them to heal, he could still fix the cuts on his face.

"You sure you don't need a doctor? Maybe we should have gone to the hospital. You might have a broken rib or something…" Sam rambled as he found gauze and peroxide, in part out of heartfelt concern, in part to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sure," Dean confirmed tiredly, dragging his hand across his chest to feel the bruises. "I know how a broken rib feels, man," he said and then winced.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave up. Dean's arm slumped dismally on the bed.

"God…" Dean muttered under his breath, rubbing his clammy forehead.

Sam smiled briefly and gently moved Dean's hand away to have a look at the gash. Dean groaned, but this time he couldn't gather the strength to fight Sam. Suddenly his limbs were heavy and unresponsive, and the mattress felt definitely less solid than it was supposed to be. Softness embraced him and lulled him into letting go. Nauseated, Dean fidgeted with the blankets and tried to regain something similar to balance.

"S-Sam…"

"Yeah?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible, wet his lips and tried again. But after he achieved no better results, he gave up and hoped Sam would get the meaning anyway.

"Dizzy?" Sam asked softly, as he applied gauze to the gash.

The older hunter nodded as confirmation.

"I know."

The cure finished, Sam applied a damp rag to Dean's bruised face and hoped that at least it would be refreshing. Dean blinked at the moist contact and fixed his hazel eyes on his brother, who chewed his lip nervously at the quiet examination.

"What?" Sam asked finally.

"Nobody messed with my head, Sammy," Dean's said with a thin voice.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked and arched an eyebrow.

Dean tried to answer but couldn't accomplish it. Instead he fell relentlessly into a most needed slumber.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said, shaking Dean's shoulder slightly. "C'mon, big brother."

Dean shifted uncomfortably but didn't open his eyes. With a sigh, Sam gave up waking him. It was probably better this way, after all, he supposed. Trying not to disturb Dean, Sam stood and turned on the bedside lamp instead of the room's light, then went to switch off the laptop and put the first-aid kit away. He also splashed some cool water over his face. He ended up staying in the bathroom for several minutes, just looking numbly at his reflection on the mirror and trying to process what had happened during the last few hours.

And failing to do so.

_God, I need to sleep too._

Just sleep, even if only for a few hours. Maybe when he woke up in the morning the whole situation would magically make sense. Maybe the whole vision thing would turn out to be a regular nightmare he could wake up from. They wouldn't be in Lawrence, and Dean wouldn't be so utterly bent on destroying himself.

Or at least, Missouri wouldn't have appeared and there would be another perfectly rational —supernaturally speaking— explanation for the danger menacing Jennifer's family. God, he didn't care anymore if it wasn't their demon. All he cared about was his brother and that it seemed as if their mom was trying to haunt them. And if there was someone who certainly did not deserve that, it was Dean.

Back in the room, Sam looked ruefully as Dean shifted restlessly in his sleep. He suddenly felt more helpless than ever. Not knowing what else to do, Sam sat again on his brother's bed and placed a tentative hand over Dean's to let him know he was there. To his surprise, Dean's fingers clung to Sam's fiercely, and the younger hunter could feel tremors shaking his brother's body.

"Hey," Sam hushed. "It's okay, buddy."

Without letting go of Dean's hand, Sam placed his other hand on his brother's chest —it was there where he remembered it being less bruised— and rubbed softly. Eyes moving behind closed lids, Dean stirred under his touch and gasped softly, but he seemed settled by the pressure.

"Couldn't make it to five, huh?" Sam said affectionately. "God, you're such a jerk."

"Dean…"

Sam made a fool of himself when his brother's eyes fluttered open all of a sudden, and his first thought was to let go of him before Dean noticed he was holding his hand. But then he hesitated, because his brother's lids dropped a bit, and his green eyes, although shiny through his half-closed eyelashes, weren't focused. It was as if he wasn't really awake, at least not completely.

"Dean?"

"Dean…she said…Dean."

Sam let out a sigh, guessing his brother was reliving his visions.

"Just sleep, man," Sam said softly, squeezing his brother's hand. "Go back to sleep."

"No…she said Dean. She…my head, no messing," the older brother slurred groggily.

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean your head…?" the younger brother repeated the previous unanswered question slowly, but trailed off when he noticed the deep sadness in his brother's drowsy eyes.

"My head, she wasn't messing with my head," Dean murmured. "She said that the baby…the baby would be named Dean…"

No, Sam wasn't going to like the answer.

"There's no way those could be my memories, Sam…she was just showing hers. They were her memories. It was her, it was Mom."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**

**Oh, by the way. Today is my birthday! What about a birthday review present ;-)?**

**xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**AL LAST! It's been impossible to update for the last 3 days!**

**Hi everybody! How's it going? Yay, I'm back at last, don't hate me too much for being so terribly slow. I'm on my knees asking for your mercy! Well, let's see. I've got a couple of things to tell you. First and more important, THANKS for your reviews. Really, I know I say it over and over again, but your comments are simply amazing. To those who asked me if I was planning to finish this story, my answer is an emphatic YES. I can't say when, or at what pace, but I can promise you I'm going to finish it.**

**Some good news: 1) since exams period is over, I'll probably update faster. And 2) Thanks to my dearest beta Emrys, the story is now REVISED from the 1st chapter to the last!**

**Bad news though is I use to go through the text again before uploading. So any typo and/or grammar mistake left is just evidence that I insist on ruining Em's work.**

**Enjoy!**

_LAWRENCE REVISITED_

_Chapter 6. Scared._

Dean woke up slowly. Very slowly. His chest woke first and initiated a tingling feeling that crawled its way to numbness. His brain then sent a drowsy order to his hand to raise and rub the tickling skin, but his arm felt heavy and refused to obey. Trying to make sense of all of the confusing and contradicting sensations, Dean frowned slightly in his sleep. He unthinkingly took a deep breath before he realized that any such movement could prove to be a bad idea. Immediately, he felt a sharp pain tightening his lungs. The young man let out a groan and instinctively tried to move, which did nothing but make the ache in his chest worse. Alarmed, he cracked his eyes open and found himself staring at a white ceiling.

_Where am I?_

While his body was still reluctant to respond, the hunter in him forced his mind awake. He tried to remember the previous day in order to figure out why he was hurting so much. Suddenly the images of the house, Mary, Missouri and the bar fight flooded back to him. Honestly wishing that he could drift into oblivion again, Dean shut his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean called, instead of succumbing to sleep.

He waited for a moment, but heard no response. Distraught and grinding his teeth to keep the ache at bay, the older Winchester tried to prop himself up. To a certain point, he succeeded, since he was able to sit down with nothing more than a tense, pained hiss escaping his lips. Resting his head back against the headboard, he swore under his breath and tried to relax. Then, blinking to adjust his eyes to the daylight that seeped through the window, Dean scanned the room and felt a cold lump in his throat as he gradually became aware of the little hints that told him his brother was gone. Hints such as no sounds coming out of the bathroom or Sam's jacket missing from the back of the chair.

Besides, the change of position was making his stomach lurch. For a moment Dean struggled between the need to fight the nausea by inhaling some air and the certainty that a sharp intake of breath would only make the pain worse. Closing his eyes again, he breathed evenly for a couple of minutes, and eventually his stomach eased. The relief he felt from successfully ridding himself of the nausea; however, was tempered by the pounding in his head. Dean didn't even think it was possible for his head to throb so badly and still remain attached to the rest of his body. He pressed the heel of his hands against his eye-sockets and dazedly followed the white spots that popped up and danced in his field of vision. He had been beaten up countless times before and on many of those occasions, he had faced the aftermath in a far worse condition. However, he currently couldn't remember feeling worse in his whole life. And he certainly had never felt more stupid.

_"Are you fucking out of your mind? You take off without saying a word, don't answer the phone, get drunk in a hole and pick a fight with four guys!"_

Well, yeah, maybe he hadn't been acting intelligently last night, but at the time it had all made perfect sense. It had made sense to go back to the house alone and force himself to stand up against what he already knew was inside. And when he had failed, it had made sense to go to that filthy bar down the road, because he remembered that his father used to go there before they made their trips to their old, burned home. And while John had never seemed quite determined to go onto the property before entering the bar, he had always displayed an unwavering resolution when he had left it. That resolution had remained burned in his expression every time he had returned to the car where little Dean and been told to wait for him. And it had remained when John had unfailingly driven them to their old property with his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed.

It had made sense to expect to find John at that bar, and when he hadn't, it had then made sense to down beer after beer while perched on an unsteady stool. In a twisted way it had made him feel closer to John than ever, and that had felt right for a while.

Finally, it had made sense to provoke those jerks. After all, if he wasn't able to knock down a couple of punks when he was tanked, how was he going to be able to confront his mother's ghost when he was petrified? If he wasn't going to be able to stop from falling, at least he'd make damn sure he was the one who controlled the jump.

He really needed to learn to fly.

It did make sense…didn't it? At least it had last night. Now it was harder to find the point of it all now. Punching Sam had also made sense last night, because the kid had been acting like an ass and had insisted on hovering over Dean.

_Sam._

Yeah, Dean's head must have been really screwed up if anything he had done during the previous day had seemed reasonable to him. No wonder Sam was mad at him. No wonder he had left. A voice in his mind told him to get over it all and embrace the regained solitude; it probably was for the best.

But the rest of him was barely keeping it together, because he had woken up feeling like crap, and his little brother wasn't there to be his usual puppy eyed pain in the ass self who believed Dean needed to be told that everything would be okay. Besides Dean had no idea where said little brother had gone off to or when he was coming back, if at all.

But then Dean tossed a look around him again, and relief grabbed him in a fierce hold, as he gradually realized that the little hints that had told him Sam was gone were also telling him that his brother wasn't gone for good. Hints like Sam's duffle bag still on the opposite bed or his favourite T-shirt left over the radiator to dry.

Hints like the glass of water waiting for Dean on the bedside table, along with a couple of aspirins and a short scribbled note saying: 'Back in a while.'

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam stood in front of the door to Missouri's house, brought a hand to the knocker, but then hesitated. Unsure of what to do, he had ended up just standing there for the last couple of minutes. He was certain that knocking on that door was about the last thing he wanted to do, but he also knew he didn't have much of a choice.

_"There's no way those could be my memories, Sam…she was just showing hers. They were her memories. It was Mom."_

Remembering his brother's words and the broken way in which they had been spoken, Sam sighed. Those words gave him the strength to make up his mind and put his own qualms aside. Bracing himself, Sam grabbed the knocker firmly and lifted it, but just when he was about to let it go against the plate, the door opened from the inside. Startled, Sam stepped aside as a tall black man left the house, and Missouri called from down the hallway.

"…don't you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you."

The man seemed relieved and thanked Missouri effusively. When he noticed Sam, the man nodded a greeting in his direction and headed to his car. The younger Winchester grunted something similar to "Morning…" and watched him walk away. Suddenly entering the threshold of the doorway, Missouri stood to watch the departing man and began shaking her head sympathetically.

"Oh, poor bastard," she cooed. "His woman is cheating on him with the gardener…as we speak."

With a mix of astonishment and relief, Sam turned around to look at her, and Missouri sighed as her eyes continued to follow her client. Then she focused on Sam and although her face softened, she didn't show the slightest shadow of surprise at finding the younger Winchester on her doorstep.

"Come inside, son," she invited.

His body tense and alert for what he might find behind the door, Sam complied in silence.

"Don't worry, I left the crystal ball in the basement," Missouri commented casually, hoping to lighten the mood.

Not wanting to admit to himself that Missouri had just read his mind, Sam only glared and pursed his lips at her comment. A second later he allowed himself to consider the possibility that she had actually read him, in a non-metaphorical sense, and the thought wasn't exactly reassuring. More conscious than ever of not having Dean by his side, Sam's thoughts flew to his sleeping brother. He chuckled to himself as he realized that it was usually Dean who was the wary one, whereas Sam tended to trust people, often too much and too fast for their father's liking. And now it was funny, that although he had finally met a person that apparently was worthy of John's immediate trust, even more, a psychic he probably had more in common with than anyone else, he couldn't help but be on guard around her.

The woman seemed to sense his uneasiness just like she had at their old house and didn't push further down the humour road. Instead, she waited patiently for Sam to take a seat in the living room and gave him some time to make himself comfortable with the place. The young man observed the living room with unconcealed curiosity; it was a pretty cozy room, sunny and smelling of comfort food. Definitely not what he had expected. Focusing on Missouri again, he noticed the woman's eyes lingered on his split lip for an instant before meeting his.

"You look tired, my dear," she fussed.

"Didn't sleep well last night," Sam said, shrugging.

It was the typical Winchester understatement for "didn't sleep at all," but after all, wasn't she a mind reader? Sam had no reason to hand all of the truth to her on a plate.

"Are you hungry? It would only take me a minute to fix a little breakfast for you."

"I'm good, thanks," Sam replied automatically.

At the same time, though, he realized he should be hungry. When was the last time he had eaten something? That donut from the gas station seemed like a decade ago. He wondered if Dean had eaten while he was wandering Lawrence on his own. He doubted it.

"How is Dean?" Missouri interrupted his rambling thoughts.

He blinked and looked away.

"He's fine," Sam answered.

And he wasn't exactly lying to her, since the unspoken coda "As far as you're concerned" dwelled unmistakably in his words. Sam didn't want Missouri around Dean now any more than he had yesterday. Missouri had no problem picking up on his feelings, and she nodded acceptingly.

"So?" she started, her voice calm and her look understanding. "Sam, what can I do for you?"

Feeling suddenly too tired to keep pretending he was the tough one and fight her inherent kindness, Sam raised his eyes almost unwillingly and let out a ragged breath. Missouri stood up quietly and sat next to him on the couch and was happy when the young man allowed her to do so.

"I…I just…" Sam stammered, then paused and swallowed hard. He fixed his eyes on her, and Missouri saw that they held the most vulnerable look that she had seen in a long time. Unable to stop herself, the woman placed her hand on Sam's knee and felt him shivering beneath the thick fabric of the jeans. "I have to know," he finished with a thin voice.

Missouri squeezed Sam's knee gently.

"What did Dean tell you?" she asked.

Sam took a deep breath, the first steady one of the last minute, and Missouri squeezed his knee again. When she became aware that the young hunter had gotten a grip on himself, she released her hold and then rested both her hands on her lap. Then Sam briefly filled her in with what Dean had kept to himself the previous morning. He told her how his brother had seen Mary standing in front of him as real and solid as Sam was seeing Missouri now, of how she had talked to Dean and then had done something to him. He also told her what Dean remembered of his last vision, as well as the reason why he thought the memories were their mother's instead of his own. Missouri listened to Sam until the end. She didn't cut him off once but only nodded supportively here and there. When Sam finished there was a moment of silence in which the ticking of an old clock from somewhere down the corridor was the only audible sound in the room.

"I see," Missouri sighed. "I had imagined something like that."

"I need to know, Missouri", Sam repeated, shaking his head, "What happened? What is that thing?"

The woman bit her lip and set her gaze off into the distance.

"I told you what it was, Sam, a restless soul. Your brother called it a haunted spirit, and I guess that's right too. As you know most spirits are born out of a violent death and get bound to the living world by their unfinished business. I can't know for sure how it happened, dear, but I can give you my opinion. On the night your mother died, a great evilness came to your house, one of an extraordinary power. It was cruel and vicious, Sam. You know it. You've seen what it does."

The image of the fire and of Jessica pinned to the ceiling flashed through Sam's mind, and he nodded slowly. Missouri shivered a bit, as if the image had been passed on to her.

"Mary met a terrible death, my dear," she continued ruefully. "And in the moment of passing away, the instant when her heart stopped beating and her soul left us, there was a huge energy around her. That power, that same evil power that took her away, probably merged with her desire to stay and sealed the pact. A pact she didn't ask for, the poor baby, no more than she deserved that death. And thus, she became a restless soul."

"But you… you said something about unfinished business"

"Her children, Sam. You and Dean. You were her family. She refused to leave you under such awful circumstances. She refused to leave her family."

Sam felt his eyes watering, and he unconsciously tightened his clenched fists until his nails left marks on his palms. Unsure if he would be able to breathe without sobbing, he found himself unwilling to breathe at all.

"Then it's her?" he hissed. "My mom?"

"Sam," Missouri reminded him with a stern voice. "Your mother is dead. She died 22 years ago, please do not forget that," she stressed. "She's gone, and whatever is left of her is not…well, her."

"And yet, it is."

Missouri released a sorrowful sigh.

"And yet, it is," she echoed.

As he made the exhausting effort to keep from crying like a child, Sam nodded. Noticing how hard the struggle with his emotions was, he realized how badly he wanted Dean. He wanted his big brother then and there, even if it was only to scowl at him for being such a girl.

_I'm really a selfish bastard, aren't I?_

When he felt Missouri's hand on his shoulder he shook his head no, and raised one hand to stop the woman's attempt of comfort. She complied and gave him a moment to collect himself.

"What does she want now?" he asked hoarsely after a while.

Moved by Sam's strength and his firm, unfaltering search for answers regardless of how painful they could turn out to be, Missouri smiled at him. He wasn't likely to notice it himself, but Sam was by far one of the bravest persons Missouri had ever met.

"I mean why would she attack Jennifer?" Sam elaborated. "The flickering lights, the sounds…they've been going on for years, right? Why would she want to hurt somebody now? And why Jennifer?"

Missouri chewed her lip and decided to answer his questions as honestly as possible, if for no other reason than to honour Sam's courage. However, she wasn't made of steel, and the thought of how he may be affected by her words gave her pause. Sam noticed the psychic's hesitation and felt a chill run down his spine.

"Missouri, why?"

"Well, dear, she wants to recover her family. That's what she's been trying to do for all of these years."

"Recover her family? What do you mean?"

"Jenny has two little children, Sam. The spirit wants her. Wants her life."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean took the aspirins Sam had left for him and felt instantaneous relief as the cool water he drank with the medication eased his throat. He greedily drank the rest of the water and then let himself slip from the headboard to lie on his back again. With a tired sigh, Dean spaced out and waited for the painkillers to kick in. He was perfectly aware that, pills or no pills, after his gloriously drunken fight he was going to be aching for a couple of days. At least the aspirins would counteract the worst inconveniences of the hangover. The headache, for starters.

After a while, Dean was still feeling a bit under the weather, but he sensibly realized that it wasn't going to get much better anytime soon. Aspirin only went so far to ease the results of his stupidity; the rest would only be taken care of by time. Therefore, he sat up on the bed and flung his legs over the edge to stand up. On his third attempt he actually succeeded but still swayed a little when he regained a vertical position.

"Whoa…" Dean mumbled, reaching out to grab the bedside table.

As he did so, he knocked over the glass, and it rolled over the edge of the table to fall on the carpet. It didn't break, but it spilled some residual drops of water onto Sam's note. For some reason, the soggy image of Sam's handwriting was disheartening to Dean, and even as the hunter mentally said to himself that it was just a stupid note, he couldn't help picking it up to place it on something dry.

Despite the fact that his sense of balance was screaming at him not to bend down, Dean crouched to pick the glass up too. He saw it beneath Sam's bed, but as he was reaching out for it something else caught his attention. His father's journal was on the floor in the space between the bedside table and the bed. Dean picked it up with a surprised frown and sat back on his bed with the journal on his lap. What was their dad's journal doing on the floor? And how was it possible that Sam hadn't seen it when he had made his bed?

Although…

Dean sighed as he distractedly rubbed the part of his chest closest to his heart, the part that was suddenly feeling colder than the rest of him. He distantly recalled a warm pressure there during the night that had prevented his world from spinning away. Maybe he had just dreamt it. But the fact remained that Sam's bed seemed not made, but rather like it had never been unmade in the first place. Not sleeping a wink in order to look over his incapacitated brother was definitely one of Sam's more aggravating character traits.

He also remembered that Sam had been upset about something in the journal. Flipping through the pages, he came across a crumpled one and scanned his father's notes. When he found John's references to Missouri, it all made perfect sense. The hunter put the journal aside and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

_Calm down, Dean. Calm down._

Maybe if he tried to get a hold of his father again, the man would pick up the phone. However, the idea made him want to laugh. What if John actually did answer the phone this time? What was Dean going to tell him? "Dad, I went back to our old house and I was so freaked out that I barely made it to the front door, just like in the old times?" "By the way, you know that friend of yours, Missouri, who you've never mentioned to us? So she's convinced that Mom is haunting the house. And guess what? I…I'm convinced of it too, because she's haunting me." "Ah, how did we get here? Well, you see, Sammy had a vision. Yeah, a vision. Cool, huh? No? He doesn't think so either." "You promised her, you old bastard. You promised her you wouldn't turn us into soldiers!"

_Jesus, Mom…I've missed you so fucking much._

Dean also suddenly understood how the journal had ended up on the floor. Because, right now, he felt the strong urge to hurl it against the wall too.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam frowned, and although his lips trembled he uttered no words. Missouri sensed the silent plea for further elaboration and complied.

"Your mothers' spirit has been living in the house since her death, and she's been waiting for her chance to come back to life by using someone else's body," Missouri explained. "For years, she has spooked away any other tenant until a family similar to the one that she was forced to leave, a family with two children, moved into the house. Do you understand, Sam? By taking over Jennifer's body, she would replace her and be able to steal her life. Mary would get something back that is similar to what was once hers."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Sam objected. "Are you saying she wants to possess Jennifer?"

"Something like that. But it's more likely that she wants to completely expel Jenny's spirit and then take her place."

"Can that be done?"

"I don't know, honey. But any doubts that Mary might have are probably not going to stop her from trying to steal back her life again."

"What? Wait…" Sam said, turning pale. "She's tried before?"

Missouri didn't answer but only looked at him with sad, dark eyes.

"Marcia," Sam muttered. "Marcia Johnson, the woman that died three years ago. She had two children also. Are you saying that…?"

"Marcia was a sweet girl," Missouri said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "A young woman who was so full of life. But her body couldn't stand it. I…I couldn't help her."

Still in shock, Sam witnessed Missouri breaking into muffled sobs. At a loss of words, he reached out to hold her hand. Missouri patted Sam's hand gently and forced a smile.

"I'm sorry, honey," she apologized. When Sam shook his head, she insisted, "I really am. I just wish you and your brother didn't have to go through this."

At mention of his brother, Sam jolted.

"What does she want from Dean?" he asked, in a tone that clearly showed he was afraid of the answer.

"She knows you're here to hunt her, Sam. She's just…well, she's protecting herself. I know it's difficult to understand, but spirits aren't human anymore. They don't think like humans do. Instead, they're single-minded in their actions. All Mary can focus on is gaining some semblance of her life back. And she'll do whatever she has to do and use everything she's got to stop you, even though you and your brother are both part of the life she once had."

"Like messing with my brother?"

"Like messing with your brother."

"But why not me?" Sam frowned. "I'm the…the 'psychic' one, right?"

"Yes, baby, but with you it's different."

Sam shook his head in denial and with a hint of despair. Even if they were not intended to be harsh, Missouri's words were already tearing him apart bit by bit as they slowly sank in him.

_"I'm not like you! This is not going to be my life!"_

_"Well, you have a responsibility."_

_"To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looked like. What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone, and she isn't coming back."_

_"Don't talk about her like that!"_

"Unfortunately, she didn't have the chance to know you, dear. Or you to know her." Missouri continued. "She can't use her memories against you, not in the way she can use them against Dean. Or your father."

Sam's expression changed.

"My Dad… He knows?"

For the first time, it was Missouri who averted her eyes. Sam grasped the woman's hand before she had time to move it away.

"Missouri?" Sam coaxed.

"Sam, you must understand…"

"Understand what!" he exclaimed. "That he's known about this for this whole time and didn't tell us? That he…"

"Sam…"

"Oh, God! Marcia…he knew about Marcia, right?" the young Winchester felt his heart pounding wildly.

"Son, listen to me. He…we couldn't save her."

"He couldn't or…" Sam was almost unable to say it. It was too hard, too horrible. "Or he _wouldn't_?"

Missouri's eyes became moist again. Sam's pained expression was unbearable, and she toyed with the idea of lying to him. But from psychic to psychic, it was impossible to lie, even by remaining silent.

"No…No," Sam mumbled, as he buried his face in his hands.

"Sam, he tried. He went there to save her. He went there to finish Mary. But he…"

"But he didn't!" Sam cried out. "He let Marcia die!"

"Don't you dare judge your father so lightly, young man!" Missouri scolded him. "You have no idea of what he went through!"

Taken aback, Sam shut up and fixed Missouri with a hurt look, but she didn't recoil.

"He tried hard, Sam, and I can tell you he wasn't the same after he failed. But you must understand," Missouri implored. "Your father is a good man, but he's spent the last twenty years on a crusade that's become his whole life. All he is now, Sam, comes from his quest to avenge your mother. He loved her to death, honey, beyond death. Killing her, even knowing that she wasn't Mary anymore, was something he couldn't do. It would have destroyed him. It would have destroyed him completely, my dear, to an extent that neither you nor I can start to comprehend."

"As it would destroy Dean?" Sam whispered.

His tone made Missouri's heart shatter into a million pieces.

"Honey, I don't know," she answered honestly. "I don't know Dean as well as you do."

Sam let out a dry laugh and stood up with his hands shoved inside his pockets.

"I wouldn't say that much."

Sam fixed his eyes past the window of the living room and stubbornly refused to meet Missouri's gaze even when she stood up to and walked to his side.

"Sam?" she called the boy gently but got no reply. "Sam, what is it?"

"I should have known better, Missouri," the young hunter said brokenly. "I didn't see this coming. Geez, I must be the worst psychic on Earth."

Missouri smiled kindly and made no comment when he reached out to wipe at a stray tear.

"I don't know what to do," Sam muttered broken-hearted. "He's falling apart in front of me, and I _don't know what to do._"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean unhurriedly walked to the bathroom and leaned on the sink. Eyes closed, he turned on the faucet and let the water run cold before splashing it over his burning face. Although he had to be extra careful of several sore spots, the water felt good on his skin and helped him clear his head. After a couple of deep breaths, the hunter looked up and confronted his image in the mirror.

_Holy crap..._

Dean winced at the sight of a black eye, swollen lip, and the tender wound next to his hairline on his forehead. He didn't remember exactly how and when he had gotten any of these injuries, because he was finding it quite hard to focus on the brawl. Still, the sound of a low thud and his head clashing against a table echoed painfully in the back of his mind. Probably that had been what caused the gash over his temple, he mused absently as he prodded around the wound. He ground his teeth in response to the pain he felt at his own touch and to the frightening image of bruising blues and purples that currently discolored his face.

Oh, yeah, he remembered it now. Remembered the stab of pain to his skull when those punks had finally brought him to the floor and started kicking him. Swallowing a sudden metallic taste in his mouth that was brought on by the memory, Dean unconsciously raised a hand and placed it protectively over his stomach.

"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed.

However, his anger would be far more useful as an outlet if he could actually vent it on someone. And, to be honest, every time he tried to visualize the faces of his aggressors, he clashed against a blurry wall of fog. Anyhow, the graze on his forehead was the most serious of his wounds, and, truth to be told, it didn't look too bad. Dean had expected to find it more swollen, but Sam had done a good job cleaning and fixing it the previous night. As long as he didn't poke at them too much, the cuts on his face only felt taut and mildly sore.

Carefully, Dean took his T-shirt off and assessed the condition of his battered torso. It was easy to see which bruises would take longer to heal. Some of them had already taken on a yellowish color, and would disappear soon, but the hunter winced noticeably when his hands reached the darkest ones. The idea crossed his mind to test how long he could bear the pain if he pressed on the sensitive spots, but he didn't dare start the familiar counting drill, just in case he failed again.

Dean vaguely realized that his hands were also sore, and that his knuckles felt pretty raw. Obviously, he hadn't been the only one taking blows, although once more, he was unable to remember punching anybody at the bar. Anyone that is, except for one person: Sam.

He could clearly see Sam's face when his fist had connected with his brother's jaw. He frowned at the memory of Sam's expression of total shock and the hurt look on those big deep always questioning eyes. Dean relived the scene in his mind over and over, until his throat tightened so hard it practically cut off his air supply. He had deliberately and intentionally taken a swing at Sam. Dean had wanted to harm him. Dean had wanted to be harmed. Dean had lost control, and as a result, Sammy was hurt. Over damn car keys.

He was going to be sick.

_"Sammy!" a four-year old Dean called, leaning on tiptoes over Sam's crib._

_Baby Sammy looked up, giggled and then began waving his little hands towards Dean, who was barely able to stick his nose over the crib. Dean smiled when Sammy recognized him and showed his little brother a red ball._

_"Hi, Sammy! Look what I have!" Dean said enthusiastically._

_Sam babbled cheerfully and reached for the ball. Dean gave a soft laugh and stood on tiptoes again so that he could pass his arm over the crib to let his brother touch the toy. The baby seemed delighted, and Dean was thrilled to know that he was the one who was making Sammy smile._

_"I know you can't play yet, because you're little," Dean explained in his best sensible, adult tone. "But when you grow up, I'll teach you. You'll see."_

_Sam kept on babbling, and Dean giggled. He had always thought that it was very funny when Sammy babbled to him, because it was as if they were having a conversation. His mother had told him once that Sam would be able to understand him soon, as long as Dean was patient and tender and took the time to talk to his little brother. That's why Dean slipped into Sam's room when Mom was busy on the first floor. It was the perfect time to talk to his little brother and tell him all kind of stories or speak about what they would do when Sammy got bigger. It was funny, but tiring too, since Dean had to make a big effort to lean over the crib's crosspieces, and Mom and Dad had told him not to climb onto the chairs…_

_His arm aching, the four-years old child suddenly lost his grip on the ball, and it fell on Sam's head with a thud. Dean jolted back as Sammy blinked in surprise, fixed his eyes on Dean's, and then let out an aggravated cry._

_"S-Sammy?" little Dean stammered._

_The baby's cry grew louder and more distressed as his skin flushed, and tears ran freely over his cheeks._

_"Sammy…Sa-Sammy," Dean cried, giving way to his own tears._

_"What happened?" his mother exclaimed as she suddenly came rushing into the room._

_Dean stepped back to the corner of the bedroom and curled himself into a tiny shivering ball as his mom glanced over him and then quickly to the crib._

_"Sammy, shhh, what's wrong baby?" she hushed._

_Her eyes lingered over the red ball next to the baby's head and then, accompanied by an arching eyebrow, turned to Dean. Absolutely terrified, her elder son pulled his legs even tighter to his chest and broke into pitiful sobs. Unable to look up, he only got to overhear his brother's disconsolate crying and his mother's soothing words aimed at Sam._

_Little by little, Sam's crying subsided under their mother's soft humming, but Dean still couldn't stop sobbing. Finally Sam stopped crying completely, and his mom stopped humming. Dean remained still, hiccupping quietly._

_"Dean?" his mother called._

_The child didn't answer._

_"Dean," she repeated, her voice firm. "Dean, what happened?"_

_Convinced that his mother was angry with him because he had hurt Sammy and that meant that he had been bad, Dean shivered and cried even harder. But his mother wasn't using an angry tone, just an even voice. Out of the blue, Dean threw himself into her chest and sobbed his heart out onto her shoulder._

_"I'm sorry Mommy," he cried miserably, his young voice absolutely broken. "I didn't mean to! I let it drop but I didn't mean to!"_

_His mom sighed and took her first born in her arms. She held him lovingly and rubbed soothing circles on her shaking son's back._

_"Dean? Now listen to me, okay?" she said and then waited for the child to nod before continuing. "You have to be more careful."_

_"I didn't mean to…" Dean said, sniffling loudly._

_"I know that, sweetheart," she said in an attempt to reassure him. "I'm not angry with you, okay? But I need you to understand that you've got to be careful with your brother. You're the older one, and that means you're always going to be a little bit stronger than him. Besides, he's still very little."_

_"I know, Mommy…I'm sorry…"_

_"It's okay now, don't cry," his mother said and shifted to accommodate Dean over her hip. She held him with one arm and wiped his tears with her free hand. "Much better," she said, smiling. "Now, let's go see your brother."_

_"No!" Dean yelled, stiffening in his mother's arms. "I hurt him."_

_"No, you didn't. You just startled him. Here."_

_Mother and son went to the crib's side. Sammy was still flushed after his little tantrum, but he seemed completely at ease and was happily playing with the red ball that had landed on him just a couple of minutes before. Dean didn't dare look at him, and buried his face in his mother's neck._

_"Sammy," their mother called. "Look who's here! You've given your big brother a scare, young man!"_

_Sam's eyes flew towards his mother and Dean, and he giggled happily at them both. Wide-eyed, Dean sniffed and stared at the baby._

_"He's not mad at me?" the older child asked in a small voice._

_His mom laughed softly and kissed Dean's hair._

_"Ah, of course not, honey. He loves you."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really."_

_She left Dean on the floor and squeezed his shoulder._

_"I have to go back downstairs. Do you mind watching him for a while?"_

_"Can I?"_

_"Of course you can."_

_"Okay, Mommy, I'll take care of him."_

_His mother smiled lightly and tugged Dean's hair._

_"I know you will," she whispered before leaving._

_Dean rubbed his eyes and watched Sam as the baby babbled at him and played with the ball._

_"Do you like it?" Dean asked softly. The grin on his brother's face was the best answer he could have expected. "I'm sorry, Sammy. Can you forgive me?"_

Still shaking from the dry heaves that had brought back up what little food he had gotten into his body during the last two days, Dean flushed the toilet and rested his forehead on the porcelain. Weak and woozy again, he choked back bile and wrapped his arms around his stomach. If he had thought he knew what it was to feel like hell before, he certainly knew now that he had been absolutely wrong.

_Sam, forgive me. Please just…just come back, okay?_

Regardless of the clothes he still had on, Dean crawled inside the shower, sat on the floor and let the water fall over him. He held onto the image of his baby brother's face inside that crib as a lifeline. It was a bittersweet memory, because it was a recollection of a happier time that was lost forever.

But at least, this time the memory hadn't been one of Mary's. It belonged to him. And only to him.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Missouri?"

"Yes?"

"Is my dad here?"

"No, honey. Not anymore."

"But he was here, right?" Sam half-asked, half-asserted. "When did he leave?"

"Yesterday morning. Before you got here."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know exactly. He said he had a lead, something about an Egyptian ritual to recover a lost soul and guide it back to the light. He asked me to keep an eye on you until he got back."

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"A ritual?"

He tilted his head prompting Missouri to go on, but the psychic woman sounded as unconvinced as her next sigh sounded tired. She didn't mean to get Sam's hopes up.

"He's been trying for years to find another way to, you know, end this, but so far, everything we've tried has failed. It's like clutching at straws. He just can't face the truth."

"What truth?"

"That Mary is gone, and nothing will bring her back. And that if her spirit isn't stopped, Jennifer is going to die, and maybe more people after her."

Sam closed his eyes and pressed his head against the curtains.

"Sam," Missouri spoke sternly, reading the young man's thoughts. "You cannot wait for your father. The ritual won't work, and even if it did, he wouldn't make it back in time. You've seen it. It's coming for Jenny, and it's coming tonight."

The young hunter's hazel eyes popped open and challenged Missouri's dark ones. He wanted to protest, and he knew he could adduce dozens of reasons and arguments that would be perfectly rational, sensible and true. Like the fact that there was no indication of time in his vision other than the danger coming at nightfall. Or that John could be back sooner than Missouri thought. Besides, experience had taught him that Egyptian rituals weren't to be underestimated.

However, his heart had started to beat faster, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew she was right. Somehow, like a vibration in his spine that had refused to leave him since morning, he could sense the truthfulness at the center of her argument.

"And what are we supposed to do?"

"I'm afraid that's up to you, son"

"That's just not fair"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry"

Sam stared at the window for a few seconds more and then took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"I..." he paused and gulped. "I need to think about all of this."

_I need Dean._

"He needs you too."

Sam eyed the mind reader, and found himself still unused to her abilities, and mortified by his own inability to block his thoughts.

"He doesn't," Sam said, shrugging and remembering his helplessness when Dean, beaten and boozed, pulled away from him at the back of a grubby bar.

"Of course he does. You're his brother."

"Well, he's definitely better at the brother thing than I am. I can tell you I suck."

"Watch your language, boy," Missouri retorted. "And stop doing this to yourself. You will be of no use to Dean or anybody else if you keep feeling guilty about things you cannot control."

"I was the one that brought us here in the first place. And you know what? This shining or whatever it is, I don't want it," he said, his voice quivering at the end. Sam hated how whiny he sounded, but he was desperate. "I wish I wouldn't have had that vision. I wish none of this had happened."

"I understand that, but what about Jennifer, Sam? Your vision could save her and other people too."

_At what cost?_

Saying nothing, Missouri looked at him in the eye for a long while, and Sam fidgeted nervously with the sensation that he was being analyzed under a microscope. Finally, she gave him a little smile.

"You are special, Sam."

The young hunter cringed as he became overwhelmed by feelings of longing and fear, and the words 'normal' and 'freak' floated in his mind for Missouri to catch.

"But that's not a bad thing," she continued calmly. "I know you don't see it that way now, but as I told you yesterday, you've been given a great power. And you could use it to do so much good in the world."

"I'm not so sure about that," he retorted.

"You have to look inside of yourself. I can help you if you'd like."

Missouri held out her hand. Sam looked at it warily and then back up to read her expression. Her gaze was intense and enticing. But when she motioned closer, a chill ran down Sam's spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Let me help you," Missouri's voice turned a bit huskier. "Let me show you."

Suddenly, the room seemed full of a crackling energy that was concentrated between himself and Missouri. As images of Jessica and Jennifer flashed in front of his eyes, a smoldering pulsation pounded somewhere inside Sam. And when Missouri's hand met his, that power rushed over his body as a roaring wave, yearning to be unleashed. The air was sucked out of his lungs, and his head felt about to split in two. Confused, Sam snapped the psychic's hand away and shrank back. But at the moment he lost her touch the room seemed to disappear and was replaced by a cloud of chaos. Sam moaned and felt his knees giving way.

_No, Dean…help me._

Cold, water, pain…Sam's mind was flooded with sensations and emotions he couldn't locate or control. Among the chaos, though, an image flashed in front of his closed eyes. His brother was curled up inside the shower, half-dressed and trembling under the cold water. Sam's shoulders started shaking, and he choked, as he perceived Dean's unreleased sobs. His stomach clenched at the vision of his older brother's refusal to let his sorrow and confusion flow, even when he was alone.

"DEAN!"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Sam?"

Dean raised his head abruptly. His heart was pounding hard in his ears, and the throb mixed with the sound of the running water. He wasn't sure of how long he had been sitting there, but apparently the hot water had run out a while ago, because he was shivering uncontrollably under a cold shower. Anyway, he could swear he had heard Sam calling him. But the only sounds he now heard were his own heavy breathing, and the quiet patter of the water as it hit the shower floor. He hadn't heard the outside door to the hotel room open and close, and the normal sounds of Sam's presence were also noticeably absent. He was hunter enough to have never let those noises slip through his consciousness, regardless of how upset he was. But despite all of this evidence against him having heard Sam, he knew he would never mistake his little brother's voice.

Dean made a move to stand up and leaned his forehead on the tiles. He had to get a grip on himself, get out of the bathroom and call Sam. Maybe Sam wasn't back in the room yet, and perhaps the reason why Dean was starting to hear voices in his head was because he was going crazy. But he didn't care, because he knew his brother and had recognized his tone.

Sammy was scared.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Sam?" a woman's voice was calling his attention back. "Sam, calm down."

Prompted by the woman's tone, Sam struggled to come around. Somewhere, he thought he heard his cell phone ringing, but the sound was far away.

"Honey? That's it. Breathe for me."

Sam blinked and focused gradually on Missouri's face. He realized then that he was half-lying on the living room couch, and that Missouri was very close. Sam gasped and jerked away.

"Easy, son. It's okay."

"What did you do to me?" Sam questioned, still shivering although the tingling sensation was gone.

"Nothing, sweetie. Here," Missouri said, handing him a glass of water.

Sam sat up straight, took the glass and downed it in one go.

"What did you see?" Missouri asked.

"I saw…" Sam panted and thankfully accepted a refill. "I saw Jessica and Jennifer. I saw them dying and I…" Sam's eyed grew wide and shone with fear. "Oh my God, I saw my brother! I saw Dean! What does that mean?"

"It probably means nothing, honey. That wasn't a vision."

"But…"

"Most possibly you were thinking about your brother, so you connected with him. You're capable of that, and more than that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just gave you a glimpse into your potential. If only you knew what you could…"

"What I could become?" the young man breathed.

"No!" Missouri quickly answered, narrowing her eyes. "No, Sam. What you could _achieve_."

Sam shook his head frantically and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his upper lip. He didn't want to hear her words, because he simply couldn't deal with what they implied. Not now, with everything that was going on in his life. As a matter of fact, not ever. At least not when he was alone, without his brother having his back.

"I have to go, Missouri," Sam muttered.

"I understand," she said, smiling affectionately and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But remember, Jennifer hasn't much time, Sam."

"I know. I just…I need to talk to my brother. I-I'll call you later, after Dean and I…"

"Okay."

Trying to stop his chin from trembling, Sam swallowed and scrubbed his face.

"Are you alright?"

Sam shook his head weakly.

"I saw him, Missouri. Dammit, I've never seen him like that."

"Like what?"

"Scared," Sam whispered. "I've never seen him so scared."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**

**Sorry for such a long chapter during which the brothers are apart. I promise they'll catch up in the next one. In the meantime, please review. All kind of comments are welcome.**

**PS. Have any of you heard the song "Changes" by 3 doors down? Every time I listen to it I keep thinking it would be perfect for a songfic about Sam, but I feel honestly useless at that, so if somebody wants to take the dare…be my guest!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! You see? I promised I'd update faster this time, and here you have the next installment. It's a bit shorter than usual though (and I can see you guys right now saying "bravo!" in relief). I hope you like it. Again, thanks very much to my beta Emrys, who's done a great job in this chapter. All mistakes are mine!**

**Thanks to my reviewers too. You are the best.**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 7. Priorities._

Sam parked the Impala in front of the motel at around noontime and hurriedly went to their room. He wondered if his worry over Dean was truly rational, but he couldn't get out of his head the vision of his brother's broken expression as he sat half clothed in the shower.

_I'm being stupid_.

He'd probably find Dean recovered from his drunken brawl of the previous night and complaining about how Sam hadn't brought back anything for lunch.

As he continued the moderate trek from the parking lot to the hotel room, the thought of lunch made Sam aware that he should be hungry because it had been at least 24 hours since he and Dean had eaten anything. Yet he couldn't say he had any sort of appetite and figured that this was due to stress and worry.

"I'm being really stupid," Sam echoed his previous thought, but out loud this time.

His self-recriminating words did nothing to slow his pace.

He sighed with relief once he made it to the room and rushed to take the key out of his pocket so that he could open the door. He cursed silently when he fumbled the key and dropped it to the floor. His cursing only increased in fervor when he bent down to pick up the key and was alarmed to feel the burning prick of tears assault the corners of his eyes. Swearing once more as he straightened up, Sam forced himself to calm down and managed to unlock the door this time with only slightly shaking hands.

He found Dean sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, flipping absently through some papers Sam had been working on the day before. He had changed his clothes, and his hair was wet from a recent shower. Sam shivered unwillingly as he again envisioned the image of Dean sitting dejectedly inside the shower, as he had seen him during his trance at Missouri's. The recollection of how intense Dean's emotions had been as Sam had felt them running through his own mind threatened to throw the younger out of balance. Nevertheless, he managed to swallow the reminiscences deep down his throat by trying to focus on other aspects of the scene in front of him.

Sam assessed his brother's appearance. All things considered, Dean didn't look too bad, if one didn't focus on the bruises discolouring his face. At least he looked better than when Sam had left him earlier in the morning. Then he had been still and haggard beneath the covers almost as if he were dead. Probably the few hours of sleep he had caught after a restless first half of the night had done him some good.

Dean stiffened as soon as his brother entered the room, and fixed him with a circumspect look that Sam couldn't hold for long. Finally back in the room, part of his previous sense of anxiety to get back to Dean, had turned into a sudden nervousness about facing him. And so, Sam avoided Dean's gaze and busied himself with locking the door behind him. Both of them were aware of the awkward tension between them, and their sudden loss for words wasn't helping much. Sam walked to his own bed and sat on the edge. All the while, Dean followed Sam's every movement like a hawk, frowned at Sam's sigh of exhaustion when he stretched his lanky legs, and averted his eyes only when his little brother finally looked up to meet his gaze.

"You okay?" Dean asked offhandedly, without looking directly at Sam. The latter, though, could look past the casual tone and see that his big brother seemed genuinely anxious to get a response. More than that, Dean was ashamed. And it wasn't like Dean to be ashamed. "You look like…"

"Crap, yeah," Sam finished for him, rubbing the pitch of his nose. "So I've been told. But I'm fine. _You_?"

"I'm fine too," Dean answered quickly, and then added with a hint of aggravation, "I called you."

Sam looked down sheepishly. He had seen the missed call from Dean after he had left Missouri's house, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to call his brother's back. At the time, he had told himself it was simply because he was going to be back to the motel in a matter of minutes. But the truth was that Sam had noticed that the call had been made right after their "connection," and he wasn't ready to admit that it might have worked both ways. It was hard enough to admit it _worked_ at all just yet, and the last thing he needed was for his big brother to know without a shadow of a doubt that Sam was a freak and had been psychically spying on him. Dean would _never_ forgive him for that. Besides, even if Dean had really felt the connection, he probably wouldn't want to discuss it anyway.

"Yeah, sorry I missed it," Sam said, and then cleared his throat. "How's your head?"

"Good. But, uh…thanks, for the pills, and the water, and…." Dean let his voice fall.

Sam shook his head to play down the importance of it all.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked, suddenly aware that Dean had neglected to grouch about the absence of food. The lack of complaint for something that would typically cause Dean to be relentless in his criticism caused Sam's worry to spike. "I could go get us some food."

Dean swallowed and tried his best not to grimace at the idea of eating, but his attempts failed when his own body betrayed him by draining his face of color.

"Not really," Dean replied.

"Me neither," Sam said, snorting.

Visibly uncomfortable with what he was trying to say, Dean smiled weakly and stared at his feet for a moment. When the older brother finally looked up, his attention was drawn to Sam's bruised lip. At the sight of the injury, Dean's expression broke a little. Sam noticed and looked away, wishing Dean had punched him in the stomach instead of square in the face. At least that way people would stop looking at him and feeling bad about the bruise. For Christ sake, it was just a split lip and was the least of his worries right now.

"Dude, I'm…" Dean said hoarsely. "That…That must hurt."

Sam rolled his eyes mentally. He appreciated that Dean was trying to apologize —well, in his own way— but there were more pressing issues to talk about.

"Really, it's nothing," Sam said, shrugging it off.

He then took a deep breath and shifted in the bed to face his brother. Feeling tense due to Sam's serious expression, Dean clenched his jaw and made sure he did not come close to making eye contact with his little brother. Not even _he_ was cynical enough to deny they needed to talk, but that didn't mean he was going to plunge willingly into it.

"So where did you go?" Dean asked casually, trying to win some time.

"I went to see Missouri," Sam said, bluntly.

Dean held his breath a second and glanced pointedly at his leather jacket, which was draped over the table. He realized that Sam must have taken Missouri's card from his jacket pocket while he was sleeping and dragged an aggravated gaze back to his brother.

Up against Dean's menacing expression, Sam fidgeted and bit his lip, but he was prepared to take the consequences of his unilateral decision. To his surprise; however, his brother just let out a grunt and seemed to find a loose thread on his jeans suddenly interesting.

Well, that was unexpected, the younger hunter thought. Dean must have really been convinced he had seriously screwed up the previous night if he now felt obliged to keep himself in check. Sam felt a bit guilty for taking advantage of the situation, but he thought a docile Dean would make the conversation easier for a while.

"So?" Dean grunted when Sam didn't go on. "How did it go?"

"I told her what you told me," Sam started, wondering how much further he could push his luck without arousing his brother's rage.

Dean nodded stiffly and maintained a collected expression even though his muscles were taut beneath the cold surface.

"And?"

"And she said you were right," Sam said softly. "I'm sorry, man. It's Mom."

Dean lowered his head and frowned. To Sam he looked as if he were trying to find the solution to a very complicated problem he couldn't understand and only the pattern of the carpet held all the answers.

"Dean?"

"Don't."

"W-what?" Sam stammered.

"Don't be sorry. You've done nothing wrong."

As he remembered Missouri's words from just a while ago, Sam shook his head and chuckled sadly. Missouri had tried telling him that he shouldn't blame himself, but she hadn't been able to convince Sam. And despite the fact that his brother's words of forgiveness made him feel a little warmer, Sam knew that Dean would also fail to persuade him of his freedom from fault.

"What else did she say?" Dean asked, clearing his throat as he tried to force an even tone.

Sam told Dean what Missouri had explained to him about Mary's ghost, and how she planned to steal Jennifer's body. He also told him about Marcia's death, and the possible meaning of Dean's visions as a strategy to get the hunter into taking her side. He also made a point of saying that all of Missouri's explanations corroborated what they already knew about spirits and their patterns of behavior.

While he spoke, Sam watched Dean's reactions carefully to gauge how the revelations were affecting his brother. Sam wouldn't be able to spare him much, and he certainly wouldn't lie to him, but at least by talking to Missouri first, Sam had the chance to drop the news on Dean with his own words and at his own pace. At some point, Sam thought that if Dean had tried to act in a similarly patronizing way with him, he would be very pissed. But at the same time, Sam felt a sudden pang of understanding towards his big brother, and towards his reasons for often ignoring Sam's opinions for what was best for him.

_He's arrogant. But I guess I am too._

And so Sam kept to himself what the psychic had revealed about John since the news about Mary was already hurting Dean enough.

Dean listened without interrupting, and despite Sam's efforts to protect him, the older hunter grew paler and paler by the minute. It was as if every word that left Sam's mouth was a dagger directed at Dean's heart, and his blood was escaping his body through the cuts. He didn't react when Sam resumed his explanation but remained silent, lips pursed so tightly that they were turning white. His eyes hadn't left the floor since Sam started his story, and not being able to read his gaze was the most worrying thing for his little brother.

_C'mon, man. Don't do this. Look at me. Talk to me, Dean._

God, he was so still that for a terrible moment Sam wasn't sure if he was even breathing. The younger hunter started to panic and made a move to stand up when Dean suddenly gave out a rough laugh. Sam froze and released his own breath gradually in cautious expectation.

"Well, I'm happy to know nothing was wrong with my head after all. All that girly Proust crap was starting to spook me."

At a loss, Sam stared at Dean and internally cringed at his brother's hollow voice. Although Sam would have sworn he knew every single inflection of his big brother's tone, it was barely recognizable to him now.

"Dean?"

"Ah, c'mon, Sam. Don't look at me like that," Dean said, glaring at him. Dean forced a tiny edge of irritation into his tone at the end of his request, but it was only a feeble attempt to mask the trembling in his voice.

Sam couldn't be 100 sure what "look" Dean was referring to, but he guessed the "Jesus, my big brother is breaking into pieces right in front of me, and it's my entire fault" look had a good chance of being plastered on his face at that very moment. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't too good at concealing his emotions from Dean, and this time he couldn't even manage to look away. Consequently, it was his older brother who averted his eyes first with an annoyed snort. Dean stood up abruptly, but he apparently had forgotten about the bruises on his torso because the motion made him groan in pain. Sam winced and stood up too, but Dean quickly gave him his back and walked away.

"Dean," Sam called again. This time, the younger man's voice was small and carried full-fledged anxiety.

Dean didn't answer or turn around to face Sam. He had one arm wrapped around his chest and his breath was coming out in short, pained gasps. Swaying slightly, Dean walked to the opposite wall and stopped next to the door in a way that made Sam think that maybe his older brother would go out. Instead, Dean leaned against the wall with one hand for support and struggled to catch his breath. Sam wanted to approach him, but Dean raised the hand he kept around his midsection to stop him.

"Just...give me a minute, Sammy," Dean's whisper was distant, and Sam heard him swallowing. "Just a minute."

Obeying him went against Sam's instincts, but he complied anyway and sat at the end of Dean's bed to keep a distance between himself and his brother that wasn't intrusive. However, Sam couldn't help noticing that the older hunter was shaking; he couldn't ignore that, little by little, Dean's head had come to lean on the wall, and he was pressing his bruised forehead against it so hard that it _had_ to be painful.

Unconsciously mimicking the way his brother was clenching his fists, Sam clasped the edge of the bed tightly and witnessed his big brother's struggle with baited breath. He waited tensely for Dean to get a grip on himself and turn towards him with a smirk saying, "It's okay, Sammy. Everything is going to be alright." But long seconds passed and nothing came other than the deafening quietness of Dean's walls crumbling on Sam. Finally, Sam realized he couldn't bear the anxiety anymore, and it gave him the strength to force his voice into saying what needed to be said.

"You don't have to do this," Sam said quietly.

Dean shivered and fixed Sam with a look full of confusion but devoid of tears.

After all, this was Dean.

"What?" the older hunter asked.

"You don't have to go back there," Sam repeated firmly, holding his brother's gaze. "I can do it alone."

Dean stared at Sam in shock and stepped away from the wall in a slow, dangerous fashion. Sam didn't recoil, although he sensed he was bordering on the point where no remorse for the previous night would stop Dean from getting seriously furious with him.

"You're going no-fucking-where alone, Sam."

"Why not?"

"Why n-...? Are you NUTS?" Dean yelled. "BECAUSE IT'S DANGEROUS!"

"I told you what Missouri said. The spirit can't affect me like..."

"What? Now the damn woman speaks and her word's fact? Yesterday you were close to asking for a restraining order!"

"That was yesterday."

"AND WHAT THE HELL HAS CHANGED SINCE THEN!"

Sam clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. Dean wasn't really expecting Sam to say it, was he? Apparently not, because Dean snorted and looked away too.

"You've hunted alone before Dean. I can do it," Sam said in a conciliatory way.

"I never said you couldn't. I said it's not going to happen. End of discussion."

"You can't order me around!"

"Watch me."

"Dean. I'm not a kid anymore!"

"Then stop acting like one!"

"_You're _my_ kid. _MY_ kid, Sammy, and I'm not gonna fucking risk you!_"

Unable to tell if those words had been spoken aloud or if Dean had just thought them, Sam's heart sank. He supposed that the words had been thought, because Dean would never _say_ something like that out loud...

_Well, I'm not risking you either, big brother._

"Dean," Sam said with a sigh. He tried to regain his brother's attention, but Dean had walked to the far end of the room and wouldn't tear his eyes from the floor. "Look, I'm going to ask you something, and for once, I need you to be absolutely up front with me."

The older hunter knitted his brow and glared suspiciously at Sam.

"You were right, okay?" Sam confessed. "When you said I didn't understand, you were _right._ I didn't. I don't. And I won't have any idea what you're going through unless you tell me."

"I'm fi-"

"And since you won't tell me, I'm going to make it easy for you by boiling it down into a simple yes or no question," Sam said, cutting him off. "Can you do this? Yes or no, Dean? Can you honestly tell me that you can go in there and kill Mom's ghost? That you want to do that? That you..."

_That you'll still be yourself once you've done it?_

Dean's stony expression faltered, and his lower lip trembled a bit.

"Don't do this," the older brother breathed.

"Sorry, man. I'm doing it," Sam said, looking at Dean intensely. "One word, yes or no, and I swear I won't ask anymore questions. Not now, not ever. You tell me what you want, and we'll just do it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You say yes, we go into that house tonight and finish this. You say no, we…we walk away."

Dean had never looked more perplexed.

"Don't be an asshole, Sam," Dean offered shakily, wishing that this was all a bad joke. "I know you. You want me to believe you'd walk away from Jennifer? That you'd let her _die_?"

"Yes I would," Sam assured.

And Sam hadn't realized how certain he was of those words until they found their way through his lips.

"If it's a choice between you and her, you're goddamn right I would."

Dean's livid face shifted from anger to disbelief, then to shame and back to anger at an incredible speed. At the end, devastation was all that was left.

"How can you do this to me, Sammy?" he asked. He felt dangerously close to a complete breakdown. "How can you put that on me?"

"I'm sorry."

"You brought us here…You woke up yesterday and told me we had to come here…"

"I know."

"We went to the house! We met her. For Christ's sake, we met her children!"

"I know, Dean. I'm sorry."

"STOP SAYING THAT ALREADY, YOU LITTLE PRICK!" Dean cried. "HOW DARE YOU PUT THAT ON ME!"

"I-I'm s-sorry!" Sam stammered as he finally failed to fight the tears back.

Dean ran both hands through his hair, slumped to the floor, and then buried his face in his arms and knees.

"Dean…please."

"Shut up, Sam. God, I…I hate you so much right now."

Sam's entire universe collapsed with those last seven words.

"I deserve that," the younger brother said, sniffling.

Dean's Adam's apple wobbled inside a tightened throat.

_Don't cry…_

"And you know what?" Sam went on. "I think I can live with it. So put it on me if that's what you want. It's okay. If it's my decision, I say we walk away."

Dean raised his gaze slowly to make eye contact with Sam, who hastily wiped his tears away.

"You think that _I_ would walk away? That _I_ would let her die?" Dean mumbled. "You think I _can't_ finish the job, Sammy?"

"I'm saying that I don't _care_, Dean," Sam said, as he tilted his head and shook it lightly while intensely looking his brother in the eye. "And that I'm _not_ going to take the chance."

Dean held Sam's look with one just as intense. After a minute, he sighed and rubbed his forehead, grimacing briefly when his fingers reached a tender gash.

"I think I…I need to take a walk," he said feebly.

Sam nodded, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat. Dean exhaled, stood up and walked past Sam without tearing his eyes from the door until he grabbed the knob. Sam was relieved when Dean didn't take the Impala keys, but before he had time to dig in with the comforting knowledge that he wouldn't be getting any calls in the near future informing him that his brother had crashed into a tree, Dean slammed the door behind him.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean stayed away for almost four hours. When he got back to the motel room he found Sam lying on his own bed with his eyes closed. He was sprawled in a funny position, with the laptop opened on his lap and his back halfway slumping against the headboard. Apparently his little brother hadn't planned on falling asleep. He must have dozed off while he was working, which Dean took as an indication of how much Sam needed the rest.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean approached his sleeping brother and reached to put the laptop away. He froze midway when Sam shook and mumbled something incoherent. Dean held his breath for a second, until Sam relaxed again. Then, he sat down on the bed and contemplated his brother in silence, all the while feeling helpless and downhearted at how distraught Sam sounded, even when he was dreaming. As the younger man started to shudder and grow increasingly agitated, Dean shook his head and grabbed Sam's wrist.

"No..." Sam muttered, stirring. "No...Jennifer."

"_I know you. You want me to believe you'd walk away from Jennifer? That you'd let her die?"_

"_Yes I would."_

"Ah, shit, Sammy," Dean murmured.

Dean hated those damn nightmares, visions or whatever the hell they were that wouldn't leave his little brother alone. And Dean hated even more that he couldn't fight the nightmares for Sam or take them away for him like he could a bullet or a blow.

"No..."

"Dude, wake up."

"NO!"

Sam woke up with a jolt, and a startled Dean backed off to the point where he almost fell over the bed. Dean stood up and gave Sam a bit of space to regain his bearings but couldn't help feeling instantly bad for waking him up when he noticed the effort it took Sam to focus. Sam seemed slightly disoriented as he straightened up and blinked drowsily. His gaze darted from the laptop to the man towering over him on the side of the bed.

"Hey," Sam croaked.

"Hey yourself" Dean said quietly. "Let me guess. Dreaming of lollipops and candy canes again?"

Sam was about to retort, but in the last moment he pursed his lips and said nothing. Dean sighed. Obviously Sam wasn't willing to tell him what his vision was about, but talking in one's sleep wasn't the best way to keep a secret. Sitting there shaking and panting wasn't the best way to conceal distress either. Dean didn't comment further and waited quietly until Sam was able to even out his breathing and had gotten a bit of his colour back. Then, the younger man looked up at Dean, and frowned in confusion.

"You're back..." Sam muttered.

Dean wasn't sure if Sam was doubting it or just pointing the fact out.

"Yeah. Catch some sleep there? I mean, before the trip to Candy Land?"

"I-I think so," Sam replied, stealing a glance at his watch.

"You alright?"

His attention never leaving Dean, Sam gave a soft snort and nodded tensely in response.

"So you didn't start packing yet, huh?" Dean commented, as he kicked his duffle bag out of the way and slumped on the bed closest to the door.

Sam shot him a cautious look but didn't reply. Dean rolled his eyes at his kid brother's bewilderment and took a deep breath before squeezing his eyelids shut. He heard Sam shifting position, and the sound of the laptop being turned off, just before hearing the brush of sheets when Sam swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit with his feet on the floor.

"That woman, Marcia…" Dean asked out of the blue. "Dad knew about her, right? He's known about all of this the whole time?"

Not really surprised that Dean had jumped to the same conclusions he had, Sam stared at the floor. His big brother had always been smart, and both of them knew their father pretty well. Maybe it would be for the best, Sam thought. Maybe, if Dean didn't feel obliged to impress John, he'd answer Sam's question in a way that was true to his heart. And so, Sam nodded.

"Yeah…" Dean sighed. "I thought so."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. You've said that like a million times, dude!" Dean said with a huff.

Sam gave a light smile, because he recognized Dean's trademarked "big brother's irritation about little brother being a pain" tone, and it was nothing like the angered inflexion Dean had used during their previous discussion of a few hours before. In a weird, Winchester way, it was Dean's attempt at fixing things between them.

"Listen, about earlier. I was out of line," Dean murmured. "I don't want you to think I don't…I mean, I…uh," Dean wet his lips. "I understand what you were trying to do, and I appreciate it, okay? But I can't answer your question."

"Dean, c'mon," Sam pleaded.

"Just let me finish!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam clenched his jaw in response to his older brother's reprimand. Dean, in turn, sat straight up in the bed and took a moment to recover the thread.

"I can't answer you, because I don't know the damn answer, Sam," he said, sounding defeated. "I don't know if I can go there and…and kill her. But I do _know_ something," Dean added, locking eyes with Sam. "I know I can't turn my back on Jennifer and those kids without even trying to save her. I won't do that."

Sam held his brother's gaze with a serious expression.

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a gulp that contradicted his answer. Then, after a pause, he added nervously, "And I...I don't, you know, hate you or anything...alright?"

Sam gave him a hint of a smile and softly concluded the conversation.

"Fair enough."

Dean let out a deep sigh, grateful that his brother hadn't tried to make the moment even more uncomfortable than it already had been. With a groan, the older hunter stretched himself out on his bed and closed his eyes.

"Then it's set… Get your psychic ass in gear. We've got a job to do."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**TBC**

**Did you like it? Raise your hands those who thought Dean was going to answer differently. And now those who wish he had! Because in a way, Sam does... More angst coming! And a bit of action too.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Here you have the next installment. I apologize in advance; this is quite a bridge chapter, and shorter than usual. Oh, and this time, it's pretty Sam centered...I didn't plan it, it just came up like that. I hope you don't mind.**

**Anyway, we're getting there...I hope you like it! Thanks to my beta Emrys, who's done an excellent job as always. Don't hesitate to check on her first fanfic for Supernatural fandom! It's named "Knowing Better", and you can easily find it at C2 Supernatural Bests!**

**To my reviewers..,OS QUIERO!**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 8. Together_

Sam and Dean put themselves to work efficiently as soon as the decision was made. They were used to getting ready in a matter of minutes. Choosing the suitable equipment, cleaning it, loading it, and packing it was something they could do in their sleep. As Dean checked the rock salt gun, Sam tossed a look around the room in search of their father's journal. At first he was just mildly surprised not to find it within sight, but he assumed it would be somewhere among the rest of the papers on the table. While he racked his brains trying to remember the last place he had seen the journal, he dug up a bit of the pile but still had no success in finding it.

The memory came to him first as an unconscious thought, but it was enough to make Sam turn to inspect the opposite wall. After a minute of staring blankly at a peeled spot over the headboard of his bed, he realized why he was doing so. He was staring at the spot where John's journal had hit the wall the previous day when he had thrown it. Praying that journal was still intact, Sam scanned the floor with a quick, worried glance, but still he couldn't find it. Regret clenched his stomach, and while the rational part of his mind told him he shouldn't tell Dean what he had done —despite the difficulties involved in fabricating a reason for why he was about to kneel on the floor to search below the bed—, the irrational instinctive part made him shamefully look up at his big brother for help. Dean sensed his little brother's eyes on him and frowned.

"What?"

Sam felt as if he had been caught red-handed, and his heart jolted. But at the end of the day he was the only one to blame for letting his damn instincts take priority over rationality.

"Dad's journal?"

Dean's frown relaxed, but his expression remained cryptic. He nodded his head vaguely at his duffle bag on the floor and then continued checking on the guns. Following Dean's indication, Sam finally spotted the leather book among his brother's belongings and felt guilt-ridden relief rush across his spine. He crouched next to Dean's bag and took the journal. Grabbing one of the chairs, Sam turned it around so that he could sit with his elbows on the back and started clasping and unclasping the fastener of the book.

"Don't be mad at Dad," Dean said all of a sudden.

Lost in thought, Sam startled and pursed his lips. It didn't escape him that for the journal to be in Dean's bag, it must have been Dean who picked it up from the floor.

"I'm not," Sam replied tightly.

"Are too," Dean retorted calmly. "But it won't help."

Sam met his brother's eyes contritely. Dean sounded too calm, considering what they were about to go up against, and he had been exceptionally composed since he had returned from his "head clearing" walk. Far from feeling reassured by Dean's composure, the contrast with his big brother's previous display of openness was giving him the chills. Sam didn't know how to decipher Dean's calm response. It may have been acceptance, resignation, exhaustion or a combination of all three that kept Dean cool. It was also possible that his older brother had simply managed to bottle up his emotions again. In any case, it felt wrong, since Dean would either be defeated or unreachable.

"Sam, I'm serious," Dean pressed.

"We should call Missouri," Sam said, changing the subject. "I told her we would."

Dean held Sam's gaze intently. Finally he seemed to give up and consent to let the subject of their father drop for now.

"Okay. I'll do it," Dean said, referring to the call to Missouri.

"You'll do it?"

"Yeah," Dean said, shrugging. "Give me the number."

Clearly not liking the idea, Sam studied his brother warily. But when Dean held out his hand matter-of-factly, Sam's determination weakened. After Dean had forgiven Sam for having stolen Missouri's card, the very least Sam owed him was shutting his mouth and complying. Moreover, Dean wasn't only asking him for the number but also for a proof of trust.

The fact was that Sam trusted Dean implicitly, so he might as well prove it to him.

The younger brother took Missouri's card out of his pocket and handed it to Dean, who scanned the card and flashed a look at his little brother before stepping out of the room to speak with the psychic. Sam merely bit his lip and didn't try to follow him, because he knew that getting some things right with Missouri by himself was important for Dean.

Instead, Sam remained sitting, fixed his eyes on the journal and tried to ignore the weird sensation that was creeping in the pit of his stomach.

Dean couldn't understand.

Flipping through the pages, Sam found the old picture of his family, the one in which his parents, Dean and himself were all happily smiling in front of the house. Setting his hazel eyes on the image of his mother's face, Sam swallowed and rubbed her features affectionately with his thumb.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean took the cell out of his pocket and stole a glance at the room in an absent-minded attempt to distinguish Sam's silhouette through the curtains. Of course, it was a pretty vain attempt, and luckily so, since otherwise he would have to start thinking about the suitability of keeping weapons in a room with such a low level of privacy. With a sigh, the older Winchester moved away from the room and, with the phone in one hand and Missouri's card in another, strolled around the parking lot and up to his car. Once there, he sat on the hood and braced himself. Eyes fixed on the room where Sam was, Dean dialed Missouri's number and waited tensely for an answer.

"Hello?" the woman's gentle voice sounded at the other end.

"Hey...Missouri? It's me, uh..."

"Dean? Oh, sweetie, I'm so glad you called. I was hoping we could talk."

"Yeah, well," Dean said and then cleared his throat. "Sorry about not calling earlier. Sam told me he dropped by."

"Yes, he did. Is he okay?"

"Yeah..." Dean fidgeted uneasily. "Why shouldn't he be?"

The memory of Sam calling out to him that morning crept back into his consciousness. At the time, the fear Dean had sensed in his little brother's cry had been enough to draw him out of the shower, but afterwards the situation had grown too overwhelming and he had refused to give it too much thought.

"Oh, no reason," Missouri said after a pause. "I just worry about you, boys. Did you two have the chance to talk yet?"

"Yes. I just -I guessed you should know we...we're going to the house tonight. We're going to...we'll try to finish this."

Another pause followed, and Dean could have sworn he heard Missouri sniffling. When the woman spoke again, her voice sounded profoundly moved.

"Honey, I'm extremely happy to hear that. I knew you'd do the right thing."

Dean exhaled dryly but when what was intended to sound as a chuckle threatened to break into a sob, he covered the receiver with his palm and drew in a deep breath.

"Dean?"

"I was..." Dean started, forcing a steady tone. "I was just wondering if you could get Jennifer and the kids out of the house for a while. It shouldn't take long."

"Of course. I'll take care of that."

"Thanks."

"It's okay, dear," Missouri cooed. "It's there anything I can do for you?"

Muffling another sobbing laugh the source of which was unknown to him, the hunter wet his lips and shook his head.

"Honey," Missouri prompted him, painfully soft and gentle.

Dean blinked away the forming tears and tightened his grip on the cell.

"Why didn't he tell us?"

The words escaped his lips before he could stop them. At the other end of the line, Missouri remained silent.

"Missouri? It's our mom we're talking about here. We deserved to know!"

"Yes, you did," the woman said, trying to appease him.

However, Dean sensed the hesitance in her words, and he had the impression that there was something else that Missouri wasn't telling him.

"Dean, don't be angry with your father."

"I'm not..." Dean started and then laughed in dismay. "I'm not angry with my dad. Sam is. But I..."

"You what?"

"I understand him."

"And why do you think that Sam doesn't?"

"Because he's different!" Dean exclaimed. "He's just..."

_Better than us._

"Sam's disappointed with him, Missouri. I can see that. And I can't let him down too."

"You won't."

"Really? Is that your psychic foresight talking?"

Missouri laughed softly.

"I told your brother I don't have visions," she remarked. "But I do have damn good instincts."

Dean gave out a little snort, but the urge to burst into tears subsided considerably and he was able to release some of the tension caught in his throat.

"Well then. Do you have any tips for us? Because, let me tell you, we could use some help."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The sound of the door opening startled Sam when his brother came back into the room. Sam stood up and put the journal on the table in expectation, but Dean's expression was as unreadable as before. He met Sam's questioning look with a sideways glance.

"She'll take care of getting Jennifer and the kids away from the house while we do our thing," Dean informed Sam, as he fastened the zipper of his bag.

"How?"

"Didn't say," Dean said, shrugging.

Sam nodded and waited a moment for Dean to continue, but apparently his big brother wasn't going to share any more information from a conversation that had lasted around 15 minutes. The younger brother chewed his lip as he zipped up his own bag, and he repressed the need to press for further information. In the past, so many fights had been started when Sam had pushed their father too far in his interrogations. At the same time, Sam remembered how frustrated he had felt when his father had attempted to pry into his business, so he opted to give Dean some privacy. It also helped that Dean was the one standing in the room, and not John. However, that didn't stop frustration from rising inside Sam and emanating from him in silent, pulsating waves.

"You ready?" Dean's voice got past his inner thoughts and drew his attention.

Dean's voice _always_ found its way through the tide of frustration.

Sam nodded before grabbing his bag but didn't look up. Regardless, he felt Dean's attention lingering on his sullen self for a moment longer than expected.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean pushed. Sam glared at him. "We still have to make a quick stop before going to Jennifer's."

"A stop?"

"Yeah, there's some stuff we have to buy," Dean explained. "I'll tell you about it in the car, okay?"

Leave it to Dean to offer information as a peace offering. Still, Sam's jaw line loosened, and he felt instantly ashamed of his childish behavior. Dean would share whatever detail of the hunt Sam needed to know in good time. As for the rest of Dean's conversation with Missouri, Sam had no right to feel offended if his big brother decided to keep some things to himself.

"Okay."

"Maybe we should get something to eat too," the older hunter suggested.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and looked Dean suspiciously in the eye.

"You hungry?"

"If we can find a drive-thru on our way to the house, yeah," the older stated. "But we're on a tight schedule, so…"

"There was a diner near Jennifer's," Sam quickly said with a hopeful edge in his voice. "Their specialty was cheese burgers and apple pie…"

"Apple-pie?" now it was Dean's turn to arch an eyebrow and give his brother a pointed look.

Visibly annoyed, Sam shrugged and looked away.

"It's a diner, Dean. Not a four star restaurant," he defended himself in a whiny tone.

Dean's expression softened, and his lips curved up almost imperceptibly.

"Easy, Francis. Apple pie sounds good."

Noticing Dean's tiny smile, Sam's animosity fell as fast as it has climbed a second before.

_Dean is smiling._

"Whatever," the younger man grumbled, with all the dignity he managed to scrape together.

Still, Sam couldn't help a smile of his own as he headed for the door. Dean rolled his eyes and let out a contented sigh before following Sam outside.

Hungry or not, Dean knew that it would do no harm to put something into his stomach. And, most importantly, he knew that having an apple-pie moment from time to time was important to Sam.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Missouri Mosley hung up the phone and sat down heavily on the couch. Unable to stop thinking about the Winchester boys and the hard mission awaiting them, she wet her full lower lip and stared into the distance sadly. She couldn't help worrying, because despite the distance and separation she had loved the boys just as she loved John. She was pretty sure she would have loved Mary too, as her family still did.

No, they didn't deserve to be forced to make such a terrible decision.

Unfortunately, life wasn't always fair, and the Winchesters, among all others, knew that too well. Now, she could only hope they'd come out of it unharmed. Physically, at the very least. She had to trust they'd be strong enough. Other than that, there was little else she could do to help.

Missouri dialed Jennifer's number and cleared her throat as the ringing tones followed one another.

"Hello?"

"Jennifer, honey, how's it going?"

"Hi, Missouri! We're fine. I was meaning to call you too."

"That's great. Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner. I've baked a pineapple cake that I'm sure the kids will love!"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

After filling Sam in on the plan, Dean drove the Impala through Lawrence once more. Eyes fixed on the road ahead, Dean let his mind gone blank, and trusted the familiar rumble of the engine to seep into the emptiness and block any other thought. Dean had always been able to isolate himself from everything else when he was sheltered inside his car. In his car, Dean felt safe, and in control, because his baby always responded and never let him down.

Through the years, the two brothers had learned to deal with their nerves in their own way and to respect the other's rituals. Dean always drove before a hunt, and Sam had never questioned it. Dean was used to being quiet, whereas Sam alternated being silent with long dissertations on information he felt was pertinent to the hunt. Those weren't _always_ intended to elicit an answer from his big brother, but sometimes Dean humored him anyway, because although the older hunter didn't need the chit-chat to handle the tension, he did need Sam to keep cool, in order to stay calm himself.

Despite everything, this time was no different, except for the fact that Sam's remarks were less frequent than usual and sounded a bit forced, and Dean's responded with merely light nods or absent smiles that, at most, acknowledged his brother's attempt to made things "normal." They made two stops on their way to Jennifer's; the first one was at an herbalist's establishment and the second at the diner Sam had mentioned. On both occasions, it was Sam who stepped down and did the shopping. Although Dean hadn't told Sam that he preferred to stay in the car, his little brother seemed to understand wordlessly. He probably was oblivious though that, for Dean, hearing Sam appreciatively munching a piece of apple-pie in the passenger seat was even more soothing than the Chevy's roar.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Mmh?

"A single crumb on my upholstery, and I'll kill you."

About an hour before sunset, Dean pulled over across from Jennifer's house and turned off the engine. The Impala purred and obediently went quiet, leaving the inside of the car in a complete silence that screamed to be broken. At the passenger seat, Sam sighed quietly and bent to rest his crossed arms over the dashboard. With a slightly furrowed brow, he observed the house attentively. Beside him, Dean leaned back against the seat and let his hands hang loosely from the lower part of the steering wheel. He could have passed for serene had his fingers not been tapping nervously on the wheel.

At first, neither of them said anything, but as minutes passed by, silence made it harder not to think about Mary and what they were about to do. Sam started to fidget on his seat, and he glanced furtively at Dean before returning his gaze to the house.

"So, tell me again how we are going to do this," Sam said, his voice muffled by the way he was leaning over, with his chin buried on his arms. "We go in there and exorcise the house with holy water and sachets of houseleek and juniper. Then we wait for the spirit to materialize and shoot it with rock salt?"

"Yeah, that's it," Dean confirmed.

"And that will be enough?"

"Should be."

"What if it doesn't materialize?"

"Missouri said the holy water and the herbs would oblige her to. They won't allow her spirit to hide its presence anymore."

Sam nodded, but he didn't seem particularly reassured. Dean knew that the procedure for the hunt wasn't the only thing going on inside his little brother's head because they had both gone through it on the way to the house.

"Are you nervous?" Sam asked, without taking his eyes from the house.

Dean resumed his finger tapping and straightened up with a groan.

"Honestly?" the older brother asked, pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes.

"Yeah," Sam prompted, surprised that Dean was actually considering giving an answer. The younger Winchester turned his head so that his cheek was leaning against his arm and he could face his brother.

"I'm tired. I want to finish this, and get the hell out of this town."

Sam let his eyes drop.

"Yeah, me too," he whispered.

Dean rolled his head over the headrest to look at his brother, but he couldn't make out Sam's face below the mass of unruly hair that the younger man refused to cut. He could sense Sam's unease, and he knew by experience that Sam was unable to stay quiet for long when something was bugging him. All the signs indicated he would spit it out at any moment. However, the big brother in him was unable to bear Sam's silent brooding for long, especially since Missouri's words about Sam were still dancing around in the back of his mind.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sam looked up to find Dean's gaze set curiously on his. Immediately, he averted his eyes and erased all expression from his face.

"Nothing really," Sam assured.

Dean gave only a little shrug.

"Alright."

As he straightened against he back of the seat, Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"It's only that…" Sam started hesitantly.

"What?"

Sam shook his head

"Never mind."

Dean sighed and shifted to face Sam, but the younger brother kept his eyes fixed past the windshield onto the lawn in front of their old house. But he must have felt Dean's attention on him because he frowned and bit his lip nervously.

"Just say it already, man. What is it?" Dean asked, insistently.

"It's just weird…" Sam said in a low voice. "I keep watching the house and it looks so _normal_."

The older brother frowned slightly, not quite sure of what Sam was trying to say.

"It's hard to believe _we_ used to live in a place like that. After all these years I'd forgotten that there was a 'before the fire' at all, and now I try to picture it, and I can't."

"C'mon, you know how it was before the fire," Dean started to protest, but his firm tone wavered at Sam's haunted expression.

_Sammy, what's wrong?_

"No, I don't know," Sam said, shrugging sheepishly. "How could I? Dad never talked about it, and you… I don't know, Dean, I didn't want to upset you. It was easier to pretend it had never existed. That Mom had never existed…"

"Sam."

"I know you think I don't care, but I wish I had known her, Dean," Sam continued, unable to stop once he had gotten started. "Not knowing her made me so _different_ from Dad and you. I wish I wasn't different!"

_What?_

"Sam!" Dean tried to cut him off again.

"I used to wonder what Mom would say to me if she could see me. Can you imagine? What would she say to me if I could talk to her just once. Childish, huh?" Sam asked with a sad chuckle. " I wanted so bad to have that one chance. And now, _this._"

Tongue-tied, Dean stared at his brother while Sam's words flowed unceasingly, as happened only when the younger Winchester was really distressed. Where was all of this coming from? Sam blinked and met Dean's eyes for the first time in a while. Noticing his big brother's puzzlement, Sam swallowed and collected himself in a heartbeat.

"God," Sam said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know what I'm saying. Just forget about it."

"Sam."

"It's nothing Dean, really," Sam said, apologetically, as he stared at the setting sun.

"Look at me, dude," Dean insisted.

His tone clearly said he wasn't taking no for an answer, and Sam obeyed ruefully. He had never looked so young as he did now, and Dean felt a lump forming inside his throat that made his voice hoarse.

"I know you care."

The thought that he could have caused his little brother to doubt it, made Dean's heart ache. He had caused this; it was all Dean's fault. He had been so blind and self-centered while focused on his own hell that he hadn't thought about how Sam must have been handling this hunt. The kid had been keeping it together for Dean's sake, and as a repayment, Dean had forgotten that beneath the strong, determined hunter he had practically raised, Sammy was still a kid.

"Sam, Mom _loved_ you."

His little brother's lip quivered imperceptibly, but it only lasted a second. Dean sensed the lump tightening in his throat and swallowed hard.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, unconvinced.

"No, you don't. 'How could you?'" Dean said, shaking his head as he quoted his brother's previous words. "But if we are doing this, you deserve to know it. Mom loved you."

"She did…right?" Sam asked with a shaky smile.

_Ah, Sammy._

"Yeah," Dean said while nodding and fighting the burn of tears welling inside his eyes. "I need you to keep that in mind, no matter what happens tonight, no matter what happens inside that house. That's not going to change, Sam. You understand it, right?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Good."

"She loved you too, you know."

Taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation, Dean didn't respond at first.

"Yeah…I know," he eventually croaked. "I know she did. And she loved Dad. She loved us all, Sam. And believe it or not, we were happy once."

"I believe it," Sam said awkwardly. Then his voice turned into a whisper. "I believe you."

Before Dean could retort, some activity on the porch of their old house caught his attention. Sam followed his brother's gaze and saw Jennifer leaving the house with her children. Sam and Dean lowered themselves into their seats so that the family wouldn't notice them when they passed next to the Impala on their way down the street. The Winchesters remained hidden until Jennifer and the kids disappeared around the corner.

"It's time," Sam muttered.

"Yeah."

Stepping out of the car, Sam and Dean retrieved their bags from the back seats. Dean took the rock salt gun and Sam the herb sachets and the holy water. Both of them grabbed small guns too, and shoved EMF detectors inside their pockets. Sam looked around to make sure nobody had seen them and advanced towards the building. Before he could take more than two steps though, he felt Dean's hand grab his shoulder and turn him around so that he was facing his brother.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said.

"About what?"

"About not asking this before," Dean said with a gulp. "Do _you_ want to do this?"

His heart pounding wildly inside his chest, Sam arched an eyebrow. Did he want to do this? That was an unexpected question. He couldn't deny there was a part of him that wished that he and his brother could just turn on the engine and hit the road right away to leave Lawrence in the rear-view mirror forever. The other part…well, the other part felt pretty much confused. Unable to tear his eyes from Dean and feeling more exposed than he had ever been in his life, Sam was only capable of swallowing and nodding.

"We're together on this," Sam affirmed when he found his voice again.

The older brother nodded too and let his arm fall from Sam's shoulder after a short squeeze. They shared a look as intent as any psychically induced connection, until Dean tilted his head and smirked.

"Then, let's go, bitch."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"You got it, jerk."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The brothers strode their way towards the house's garden. The closer they came to the silhouette of the two-story structure, the less confidant Dean's pace became. The safe shelter of the car had been left behind, and as the thin wall that kept his fear at bay started to crack, he found that he couldn't stop his spinning thoughts anymore. In spite of that though, Dean took a sharp breath and ground his teeth to keep the air in his lungs.

_One..._

As dusk inexorably fell over the neighborhood, they stealthily entered the garden. The unnatural silence that surrounded the property felt definitely off, but Dean couldn't tell if it was indeed silent or if he was relentlessly shutting his senses off to focus on the next step.

_Two... _

They trod on the soft grass with muffled movements. Dean could sense Sam hovering near and felt his brother's eyes on him. He knew Sam wouldn't ask him if he was okay again. It was a pointless question unless there was a real doubt about the answer or if the person asking could do something to help. And for the time being they had already covered those bases. No, Dean wasn't okay, and there was nothing Sam could do about it.

_Three..._

At least, nothing _else_, because Dean wasn't sure whether his brother realized how his simple presence was keeping him together, and it would be way too embarrassing to let Sam know about that anyhow.

_Four..._

Sam shoved a hand inside his pocket and took a lock pick out. Checking around one last time, he quickened his pace to reach the door before any neighbor felt the sudden need to drop over. After all, Sammy had always been the cautious one. But now he was moving further and further away from Dean. It took Dean a moment to realize that this was because he wasn't moving while Sammy still was. He had frozen again, in the same damn spot that the vision of the fire had engraved in his four-year old mind.

_F-four…_

"_Dean, suck it up. C'mon, son."_

"_Daddy, I can't."_

"_Of course you can! Move!" _

"_Daddy, no! Please, don't. I'm scared."_

"_Scared of what?" _

"_Of her…"_

"_Can you feel her? Dean! Look at me, kiddo! Can you feel her? "_

"_Yes...YES."_

"Oh my God," Dean whispered.

The realization hit him like a truck.

"I knew it. I've always known it," he breathed.

He had been terrified all those times John had brought him to the house, and it was because he had felt her presence but had failed to understand what it was or why he was sensing it. Later on he had just run away, as far away as possible so that he was better able to bury the memory as deep as a little kid was able to, hoping that it would disappear along with the terror. And he had sworn he'd never go back there...

He shouldn't blame his father. He had known it too, all along.

Then somewhere inside him, good old anger snapped and replaced fear. Now he knew what he had been running away from. And for Dean, being able to put a name to it meant that he should be able to control it.

_Five._

"Dean?" Sam said from the door in a hushed voice. "Dude, it's unlocked. C'mon."

Dean blinked and focused his attention back on his brother. Slowly, the older hunter breathed out, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Sam frowned and looked around nervously before turning his attention back to Dean. Dean was drawn by his little brother's gaze and finally made it to the door.

"What was that? More Proust stuff?" Sam asked.

"Freud," Dean retorted. "But screw them both."

Sam snorted, but said nothing. Instead, he pushed the door, and it opened inward without the slightest sound.

"I can feel her, Sam," Dean murmured. "She knows we're here."

Sam nodded tensely, and stepped aside to let Dean enter first, according to their set routine.

"I've got your back," he whispered, encouragingly.

TBC

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**Please review! It's the only way I can know if you're not too annoyed by the pacing, the plot or me!**

**xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi everyone! Sorry for the waiting. Part of it was due to my vacation, and another part was…Well, I'm just slow, that's not new so far. But hey, at least this is a long chapter!**

**Thanks everybody for sticking with the story. And thanks to Emrys, queen of Betas ;)**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 9. The kid inside_

For Dean, their old house had meant many things over the years. The first four years of his life, it had meant simply safety and warmness. It had been the place to get back to after a day at school, or an afternoon at the park. The place where his parents had kissed him good night when he went to sleep, and good morning when he woke up. It had been the first place in which he had seen Sammy, tucked in a blue blanket with white clouds, when John and Mary had brought him home from the hospital. And it was the last place in which he remembered his mother loving him, and his father laughing.

One terrible night, that warmness had turned into an inferno. Dean could still remember flames, as hungry as a beast, roaring along the familiar walls, the ceiling, and the furniture. He had never experienced viciousness before, but as he had run down the corridor with baby Sam in his arms, he had physically felt the fierceness of death claiming its prey. Gusts of scorching air had replaced the oxygen in his little lungs and had burned his tears away before they could roll down his cheeks. Gasping for air, Dean had learned what death meant. And blinking the sting of dry tears away, Dean had learned not to cry.

The fire had burned up any sense of safety in him and left him empty and lost. For the next five years of his young life, a defensive fear had taken hold of him anytime he came near the house, and he still instinctively fought tooth and nail against the building's pull on him. It was a pull that he just couldn't understand since the beckoning felt like his mother, sounded like his mother, but he knew that it couldn't be her. Everybody said that his mother was dead, and so, if he responded to the call, wouldn't that mean that he was dead too?

The innocent child he had once been had been killed inside those walls, and the Dean that had come out became a survivor. That Dean didn't want to die. But that was something that John didn't seem to understand, since he had kept prodding him to go back to the house and had remained oblivious of his eldest son's feelings. On some level, Dean knew that these thoughts were probably a bit unfair; John couldn't know how Dean felt, since Dean had never explained his feelings to him. But the thing was that Dean had only been five the first time his father had tried to return to their old home, and Dean had still thought of his father as a superhero who knew absolutely everything in the world. Unfortunately, such a belief had made it harder to understand why his father insisted on taking him to the house. Sometimes, Dean had even gotten to think his father wanted to finish what the fire had started, because it was Mary who had been meant to live, and not Dean. One night, when Dean was nine, and they were finally back at their apartment after one of the trips to the house, Dean had felt his father's tired eyes lingering on him and had fidgeted under his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Dean had murmured.

"For what?" John had questioned awkwardly

"For being alive."

At a complete loss, John had gaped at his son with the saddest expression Dean had ever seen on his face, even sadder than the one he wore when he thought about his mother. The kid had figured that the moisture glistening on his father's eyes had meant that his father was sorry for the same reasons, and that Dean was right. He hadn't been able to stand watching his father suffer like that and had decided that the next time John took him along with him to the house he'd comply and go to Mary, if that was what his father wanted.

However, there hadn't been a next time. The following morning, John had made Sam and him pack, and before noon they had taken off from Lawrence. At the time, it had seemed like it would be for good.

Things had changed since then. The Winchesters had moved on. Sort of. But Dean still thought of John as a superhero who was always right, and he never was able to shake off the feeling that he owed something to him. Every now and then, when John stared at him lost in thought, Dean felt the urge to apologize, although he didn't remember for what anymore. In a similar way he had locked the fear that had been born on the night of the fire into the deepest corner of his mind and had thrown away the key. And now, years later the house was simply his reason and the reminder of his loss.

Two days ago, the house had become his mission. Entering it had been like opening Pandora's Box, since all the previous definitions and sensations associated with trespassing the threshold had jumped over him and crushed him at once. The safety, the warmth, the death, the longing, the fear, the loss, and the mission had mixed up and together had become overwhelming.

He could have sworn the Pandora myth said something about hope hiding somewhere, so maybe he only had to dig up a bit to find it. However, so far in Dean's life all the digging up he had carried out had inexorably led to finding a nasty skeleton he was required to salt and burn. This time didn't seem like it was really going to be that different, just that now the skeleton was his mother's.

Above all, for Dean the house had always been attached to his mother. Now, at age 26, it had become his enemy.

Something was definitely not right.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Holding his breath, Sam kept his movements slow and intent as he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Hovering over his brother's back, the young hunter scanned his surroundings carefully. Sam sensed something was off the moment he put his feet beyond the door, only he wasn't able to tell if that "something" was him or the house. At first, he told to himself he was too tense and because of that his mind was ready to blow any sensation out of proportion. Sam narrowed his eyes and sharpened his senses, in order to pick out whatever vibes might be found in the air. But he sensed nothing concrete, only an increasing feeling of uneasiness that was too real to be only in his imagination. Dean had told him that he could feel their mother's presence. And Sam believed him. She was here, somewhere in the house. But he was unable to find her in the thick darkness of the hall, or hear her voice in the oppressive silence. As his eyes grew used to the moonlight, his focused hypersensitivity rewarded him with a shiver across his spine.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, flashing a glance over his shoulder to check on his brother.

The half-light of the hall didn't allow them to lock eyes, but the certainty that they were close helped Sam to stay calm and focused. For Jennifer and her children. For both their sakes.

"Nothing," Sam said, shrugging.

Dean observed his little brother until the younger hunter looked away. The truth was that since his meeting with Missouri, Sam felt a little awkward inside his own body, but he couldn't explain why. He gulped and toyed with the idea of dropping his psychic experiments for the moment to focus on the solidity of the EMF in his hand.

"Check the living room," his older brother said. "I'll take the kitchen."

"I don't think splitting up is a good idea."

"We're not splitting up. Just take a quick scan and meet me back here in five minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Just do it, Sam."

Sam scoffed but followed Dean's directives, because he knew that arguing in the middle of a job was the quickest way to screw it up. However, this time he was determined to keep a close watch on his brother, and he wasn't going to give in so easily.

"You know? At some point you're going to have to stop treating me like a child," Sam commented as he began to scan the room with the EMF detector. He kept his voice low but loud enough so that Dean could hear him from the next room of the silent floor.

"Please, tell me this isn't your geeky way of playing Marco-Polo with me," Dean's voice came from the kitchen with a similar moderated volume.

Sam smiled to himself, but he deliberately held his tongue.

_Marco…_

It didn't take long before Dean's voice broke the silence again.

"See? That's just childish."

Sam's inner smile reached his lips triumphantly.

_Polo._

"Sammy? If you want me to keep talking you better give me some conversation."

Sam chuckled. Over the years, he had become a master at pissing Dean off and had found it very useful at keeping anxiety at bay.

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm doing this," Dean grouched. "Marco?"

Sam resumed the scan and sighed.

"Clear," he informed Dean.

He returned to the hall in time to see Dean stepping out of the kitchen with an accusatory face.

"Clear," the older Winchester also said. "And that wasn't funny."

Sam shrugged innocently and busied himself with the detector, but then Dean gasped softly, and Sam's attention shifted back to him.

"What?"

His eyes were already accustomed to the dim light, so he was able to make out the shadowy forms of furniture in the living room at his right, the stairs in front of him and the kitchen past them. Dean was near the stairs and shuddering slightly when Sam's voice seemed to pull him from the distance. He turned his head a couple of inches towards Sam but not enough to meet his brother's eyes.

"Dude, what is it?"

Dean tightened his grip on the rock salt gun, and his eyes darted apprehensively around him.

"You didn't hear that?" Dean rasped.

"Hear what?"

Dean made a cautious step forward. Sam mimicked him, attentive to what might be hiding in the dark, while keeping a watchful eye on his brother.

"Hear what, Dean?" he insisted.

"I don't know. I thought I heard a kid."

"A kid?" Sam said, frowning and lowering his voice. "You think Jennifer's kids are here?"

Dean advanced to the stairs where he leaned a hand on the banister, took a deep breath and ran his other hand over his forehead. Sam noticed that he was sweating.

"It's hot in here," Dean whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Dean?" Sam called hesitantly. The absence of eye-contact with his brother was starting to unnerve him, and he hadn't forgotten his brother's recent memory induced blackouts. "You're with me, right?"

Dean nodded vaguely, but when Sam approached him, Dean's breath hitched.

"Hey," Sam started.

A flickering light in his hand called his attention back to the EMF detector. The contrast between the frantic dancing of the light bars and the apparent quietness of the house sent his heart rate to the skies.

"What the hell?" Sam grumbled.

He tensed and turned around, braced to block whatever kind of supernatural blow was to come. But there was nothing there. No physical signs of a presence, no voices, noises or visible energy whatsoever. He should be able to pick them up if they were present, Sam told himself. But the more he concentrated, the surer he was that nothing was attacking them for the moment.

At least, nothing was attacking _him_.

"Sam!"

His brother's pained groan made Sam jump, and he barely had time to grab Dean by the arms when the older hunter swayed forwards with his head in his hands.

"Dean!"

"My head…" Dean panted.

Alarmed, Sam supported his brother's weight when Dean's head slumped against his shoulder.

"Don't you hear him?" Dean wheezed. "Sam, don't you hear him?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head earnestly.

Sam placed a steadying hand on the nape of his brother's neck, and kept the other on his arm in case Dean's knees gave way. The episode lasted only a few seconds, and afterwards Dean supported his own weight, and pressed his temples hard for a moment before simply letting his hands drop and rest shakily on Sam's arms. He idly fingered the fabric of Sam's shirt as he caught his breath.

"That's enough," Sam muttered, unable to keep worry out of his voice. "We're getting out of here _now._"

"No!" Dean grunted.

He straightened and shoved Sam off. Frowning darkly as his back found the banister, he leaned against it as he attempted to get his bewildered thoughts in order. When he eventually managed to raise his eyes, it was to an unwelcome sight.

Sam noticed Dean looking past him, and the younger hunter turned with baited breath to follow his brother's gaze. Given the shocked look that had settled over Dean's face, Sam was prepared to set eyes on some horrific sight but saw nothing other than the living room door. Facing his brother questioningly, Sam noticed Dean's eyes weren't focused on him…or anything in the room.

"Dean? Look at me, bro."

Dean gulped and set his clouded eyes on Sam. There was fear in them, and confusion, and also stubbornness and strength. Dean was in there, but at the same time he wasn't, not totally. Sam reached out for his brother's arm and exhaled slowly.

"What are you seeing?"

Dean bit his lip and made a weak attempt to shrug Sam off, but the younger Winchester didn't let him. Instead, he squeezed Dean's shoulder and looked intently into his eyes. Dean frowned, and tried to look away, but Sam's words summoned his attention back.

"We're in this together? Remember?" Sam said, stressing his words pointedly, and with a note of urgency edging his tone. "Please, talk to me. I need to know what's going on. _What_ are you seeing?"

Swallowing hard and shutting his eyes, Dean nodded so slightly that Sam would have missed it if his hand hadn't been on the crook of his brother's neck.

"Me," Dean sighed miserably. "I'm seeing me."

Sam's lips quivered, forming an unspoken "What?" But as he carefully watched his brother's eyes, he had the impression that Dean's tension passed into him almost like an electrical current and, if only for a second, he clearly heard a child's giggle and the light sound of tiny footsteps pattering around the room.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Missouri stirred the stew with a wooden spoon and wrinkled her nose appreciatively at the tasty smell emanating from the saucepan.

"I think it's ready," she announced.

Jennifer tore her attention from the salad she was tossing and gratefully accepted the spoonful of stew Missouri offered her to taste.

"It's good," the blond woman said, licking her lips.

Missouri smiled and put the burner out while Jennifer left for a second to check on her children, who were watching TV in the living room. When she came back, Missouri held out a bottle of beer for her.

"Thanks."

"Did you tell them dinner is almost ready?"

"Yep, but I think it's going to be hard to separate them from the television now. They're all excited to know if Tarzan stays in the jungle or not."

"They're so sweet," Missouri said, chuckling. "Let them be. The movie can't last much longer."

"You're spoiling them, Missouri," Jennifer whined good-humouredly. "Oh, by the way, remember that job interview I told you about?" she asked, sipping her beer.

"Yes, the accountant's position on Vermont Street. How did it go?"

"Pretty well, actually," Jennifer replied. Then she seemed afraid of her own enthusiasm and hesitated. "Well, I don't know. It's always hard to tell."

Missouri glanced at her with affection. The younger woman seemed tired, and she should be, since raising two kids on one's own had to be extremely hard. Jennifer was doing a wonderful job with Sari and Richie, but Missouri knew that it was also important for Jennifer to have a friend to sit idly with in the kitchen and talk. Regardless of the real reason she had invited them over on that particular night, Missouri enjoyed their company very much and was always delighted to spend time with her and the children. The truth was that she had come to appreciate them all dearly, and she was scared to admit how deeply it would hurt her if something happened to them.

"Yes, but you know, you just said it went well. Have a little faith in yourself!" the older woman said firmly.

Jennifer shrugged sheepishly.

"Maybe you're right. It seems like a great opportunity, and I could really use the money."

"So I take it you haven't heard from them yet?"

"They said they would call me today, tomorrow at the latest. Honestly, I'm kind of nervous about the whole thing."

"I'm sure you'll get the job. And if you don't, it'll be their loss."

Relaxed by Missouri's words of comfort, Jennifer allowed herself to laugh. Missouri sat down with her, uncapped a beer for herself, and sipped from the bottle with a calm smile.

"Speaking of calls. Those…bug-killers, Sam and Dean. They told you they would call me, right?"

"That's right."

"But what did they say exactly? Did they find anything, or…?"

"Yeah, they did."

"Please tell me it wasn't rats!"

Missouri smiled broadly, but when she noticed Jennifer's utterly sickened grimace, her expression became sympathetic.

"No, don't worry. No rats. Just a problem with the wiring. Or maybe they said piping. You know old houses have these kinds of inconveniences every now and then. No big deal."

"Wow! That takes a load off my mind. They'll be able to take care of it?"

Fidgeting with her beer, the psychic fixed a pensive look on the kitchen table and chewed her lip.

"They'll do everything they can," she said softly.

Satisfied with the response, Jennifer took a swig of her beer and leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh.

"I was thinking…" Jennifer's musing voice pulled Missouri out of her thoughts, "How old do you think those guys were? I don't know. It's just that they seemed very young."

"Oh, and what were you expecting?"

"I'm not sure. Someone more like the big fat, bug-killer in his fifties type!"

Missouri arched an eyebrow.

"Hey," Jennifer elaborated. "I'm not complaining! They were kind of hot."

"Jennifer!" Missouri scolded her teasingly. A burst of laughter jeopardized any attempt to keep the fake rebuke up.

"I'm just saying!" Jennifer said, laughing too.

The two women continued to laugh heartily as they finished their drinks. Missouri was still wearing an amused smile on her face when she went into the living room to answer the telephone. Jennifer lazily watched her leave while idly thinking about a non-catastrophic, roundabout way to talk her kids into leaving the movie for later.

"Hello?" Missouri said, picking up the phone.

After a pause, all trace of her previous smile was gone.

"Hold on a second."

She glanced at Jennifer, who had followed her to the living room and was standing by the door frame, and spoke apologetically with a hand covering the receiver.

"Sorry, dear. I have to take this"

"Oh", Jennifer blinked, "Do you need us to wait for you in the kitchen?"

"No", Missouri replied, "No, make yourself comfortable here. Just, do you mind if I talk in the other room?"

Jennifer shook her head without hesitation.

"No! No, of course not. Please, go ahead," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

Missouri smiled nervously and hung up the living room's telephone before disappearing down the corridor and into her bedroom. Once there, she closed the door behind her, sat on her bed and then sighed as she picked up the small phone.

"John?"

In the living room, Jennifer sat down on the couch and relaxed as she watched her children enjoy the movie. Twisting and untwisting a lock of her hair, she let her thoughts wander again to the job interview and the expected call. In doing so she suddenly felt the urge to take a look at her cell phone, just in case she had missed the call. Getting up from the couch, she reached for her bag and rummaged around with no results.

"Oh, no…" she said, frowning as she realized that she must have left the cell at home.

Jennifer chastised herself and pursed her lips as she drummed her fingers on the table. She stole a glance to the corridor and heard the murmur of Missouri talking on the phone. Then she eyed her children who were sitting peacefully in front of the TV with beatific smiles on their round faces. For a couple of seconds, Jennifer was seized by doubt. She really needed to go pick up the cell, but at the same time, she didn't want to interrupt Missouri, because judging from her friend's previous expression, the conversation she was having was really important. Making up her mind, she went to crouch next to her eldest child.

"Sari?"

The girl looked up to her mother and tilted her head quizzically.

"Yes?"

"Listen, I forgot my phone at home and I think I'm going to drop by the house to get it. Will you be okay on your own if I go out for a second?

"Can we keep watching the movie?"

"Sure. I just need you to keep an eye on your brother, okay? I won't take longer than fifteen minutes, and Missouri is in her bedroom. If you need anything, just call her."

"Okay, Mommy," Sari said, shrugging.

"You sure?"

"Yes, it's fine. We're a team."

Jennifer chuckled warmly when her little girl used those words. They were the same words Jennifer had so often used since her husband had passed away to make Sari understand that even though things were a bit different, everything would be alright as long as they stayed together and helped each other.

"Thanks, baby," Jennifer said, stroking Sari's hair and affectionately tugging Richie's, which elicited a giggle from her younger son. "I'll be right back."

The children waved goodbye to her before again getting absorbed by the screen, and Jennifer tossed a last look at them before leaving Missouri's place.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"_Are you going to kill Mom?"_

With a half-smirk that could pass as much for disbelieving as for hysterical, Dean shook his head as a four-year old, wide-eyed form of himself stared back at him from the living room's threshold. Sam scanned the same spot Dean was looking at but was at a loss because he could see nothing in the space.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked warily.

"I mean exactly what I said, Sam. I'm watching a version of myself that's 22 years younger and…" Dean paused and chuckled heartlessly. "God, I'm so gonna need a shrink after this."

Sam didn't fall for Dean's attempt at levity, since his brother's wavering voice told him better. Grinding his teeth with angered resolution, the younger hunter reached out for Dean's gun, but his brother ducked him.

"Sam, don't."

"I'll do it," Sam hissed. "Tell me where it is."

"You can't shoot him. He's not really there."

"Dean!"

"It's in my head, okay? I know it's only in my head."

"You…" Sam frowned and scanned Dean's expression, trying to make sense of his words. "You're still with me right?"

"_Is this a game?"_

Swearing under his breath, Dean detached himself from Sam and took a sharp intake of air. A buzzing pulsation started to pound inside his head, and his heart was racing uncomfortably in his chest. Only a great amount of self-control kept him from jerking away from little Dean's voice which was full of tender innocence. He had had enough of mind games already, so why did he still allow them to get to him like this? He had known Mary's ghost would try something, and he had been prepared…right?

"Dean!" Sam insisted.

"_Please, don't kill Mom."_

Dean took a deep breath and swallowed.

"I'm here, Sam," Dean said, in an attempt to assure his little brother.

"But are you okay?" Sam asked, aware that he was honestly starting to freak out. "Is he hurting you?"

"No, I'm fine, really. Let's just get this over with."

"Dean, no," Sam begged. "Please, just give me the gun and go wait in the car."

"We've already gone through this."

"Dude, you're hallucinating!"

"I'm not! And stop acting like I'm going crazy!" Dean said, glaring.

"But…"

"Stop it, Sam!" Dean yelled. "I can deal with mini-me here puppy-dog eying me, but I _can't_ deal with you doing it too. So just stop it already."

Dean huffed as he saw Sam's jaw clench, and he recognized the new expression on his brother's face as it subtly switched from worried puppy to beaten puppy. No matter how many years passed, Dean would never be able to see that look without feeling a clenching sensation in his stomach. This was exactly what Dean meant. Right now he needed Sam to back him up, not to weigh him down. Sam's support always meant the world to him, but his pity could knock Dean out faster than any supernatural thing he had ever hunted. Why didn't Sam get that?

"Sam, really I'm fine. And you can't use the 'together' card only when it's convenient for you. You're going to have to let me do this," Dean said, trying to sound sensible and calm. He only partly managed to do so, but it was enough for Sam to acknowledge that remaining calm was Dean's goal. Unfortunately, though, Dean didn't seem to be able to mask the plea that lay underneath his assurances. "C'mon. Let's just get this over with."

Reluctant to give in, Sam shrugged in an attempt to stall for enough time to think the situation through. He knew Dean was right, but that didn't make Sam less worried. Why didn't Dean get it? In Sam's book, having Dean in a haunted house under the reckless attack of outer and inner ghosts that would certainly crush Sam if their positions were changed gave him every right to be concerned about his big brother. Sam was just expressing support, and regardless of what Dean might think, it had nothing to do with pity.

"This is so _not_ right," Sam finally mumbled.

"We knew something like this could happen," Dean reminded him. "I know it's just a trick, and I'm not going to let it get to me, alright?

Sam gave an unconvinced half nod, and Dean guessed that it was the best he was going to get from his little brother.

"C'mon," Dean said, and patted Sam's shoulder.

The younger Winchester stiffened a bit and headed for the stairs after stealing a last suspicious glance at the space Dean's hallucination should be standing. Dean released the air he had been holding in his lungs and determinedly followed his brother, but he still cringed when little Dean reappeared on the second floor landing with tears pooling in his eyes.

"_Please I don't want to be alone anymore…"_

The child's voice shattered Dean's heart and even though he refused to pay attention to the wave of emotions building inside his chest, the little kid's loneliness and dejection punched him in the gut. Hard. He didn't remember his own voice ever sounding so broken, so pitiful and lost. Now, hearing it inside his head sounded too much as if it was his own self talking, instead of the hallucination.

Dean needed so badly to believe that it was the hallucination talking, instead of him.

"Just…" Dean said to Sam, forcing his voice to sound casual. "Stay where I can see you, will you?"

Sam met Dean's eyes, and the line of his jaw softened.

"Sure," the younger hunter replied, in a similar unfussy tone.

Dean nodded uncompromisingly, and Sam took it for what it was, Dean saying thanks.

Maybe they did get each other, after all.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Is it still here?" Sam asked.

Dean just nodded and busied himself arranging the packets of herbs that they had placed along the eastern wall of Jennifer's room. In the small library across the corridor and also in Richie's room, they had just performed the ritual which would allegedly keep their mother's ghost from hiding in the northern and western walls of the house. As minutes passed by, the older hunter's communication skills had been reduced to short, dry sentences and severe gestures that had Sam concerned. But Dean couldn't bother to give more detailed answers right now. The fact remained that he needed to keep it together, and to do that, he needed to be able to count on his sanity. As much as he hated it, he realized he couldn't block the kid's spell, and if he kept trying, it would break him completely. He needed to focus, keep the connection, and trust he would still be in control afterwards.

Sam knew better than to take his brother's restraint the wrong way, because he was able to notice in Dean's stance every single sign of distress he had learned to pick up from his brother over the years. Despite Dean's efforts to affect a cavalier attitude, his brow was constantly furrowed with troubled lines of pain. The color in his face was draining by the minute, and since they had left the library, Sam could tell that Dean was nursing a splitting headache based on the way in which he was pressing the pitch of his nose. As promised, Sam refrained from hauling Dean outside by force but made sure he remained within Dean's sight. This way, whenever his older brother, who was floating halfway between delusion and reality, raised his hazed eyes, Sam could be there to provide him with an anchor to the world.

"Holy water," Dean grunted, holding out his hand.

Sam silently passed him the vase and tossed around a look for the umpteenth time. He kept the EMF detector in his hand, but it seemed quite useless since it was no longer able to distinguish the readings of paranormal activity in the rooms. On the contrary, the electromagnetic field was peaking all over the place, which only made Sam nervous. He switched it off as Dean poured the holy water over the juniper and houseleek stalks and mumbled a purifying prayer.

"_Daddy is going to be mad at you."_

"_Leave me alone," _Dean said the words in his head, as he glowered at his child image. _"You're not even here."_

"_You're the one talking to me!" _the kid protested.

"_Hey, I'm just being a nice guy."_

"_Then why are you doing this?"_

"_It's my job."_

"_And she's Mom! You can't kill her!"_

Dean closed his eyes momentarily and pressed his lips tightly together. Beside him, Sam took the lead and continued reciting the Latin words.

"_She's already dead."_

Little Dean's chin trembled, and he wore a horrified expression.

"_Mommy isn't dead."_

The boy hunched his body miserably in the corner and started to cry. Dean tried his best to ignore the sounds of the child's distress and stood up next to Sam to join him in the incantation he was reading. But while he was able to keep from looking directly at the hallucination, the childish sobs got to him anyway, so much so that that his own chest started to tighten and loosen spasmodically at its rhythm.

"_You're bad. You want to hurt her."_

Dean vaguely overheard Sam reciting louder, faster, trying to rush the ritual, but his voice was slipping away. The oppression in Dean's chest increased a notch and he shivered involuntary at the far-off quality of his brother's voice. How could Sam possibly sound so far away when he was standing right behind him?

He started to turn around, but all of a sudden a wave of dizziness halted the movement. He wet his lips instead and struggled to focus his consciousness on the reality around him. He felt that if he let his guard down he would drift away, was, in fact, doing just that, drifting nicely and slowly towards the void….

"Sam…"

Sam didn't answer. Dean knew he wouldn't until he finished the prayer, because interrupting it would mean having to start it all over again. But he felt a firm, supporting hand on his shoulder in exchange.

"_I don't want to hurt her."_

"_You're lying!"_

Dean let out a strangled gasp and pressed his hands against his ears to block out a cry that didn't belong to him, but that was shaking him all the same.

"_Please, don't cry."_

"_Liar, liar, liar!" _little Dean yelled, still weeping. _"She's not dead. I can feel her!"_

Dean glared at his younger image curled up in the corner. With every sob that racked the four-year old's body, a gust of fear, helplessness and pain came out of him and was breathed in by the older hunter until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"_Maybe you're already dead too,"_ Dean shot back.

The kid stared at him wide-eyed and whimpered piteously.

"_I'm not."_

"_Maybe you died in the fire."_

"_No!"_

"_That's why you stayed in the house."_

Little Dean blinked, and Dean clearly saw that his thin eyelashes were bright and heavy with tears.

"_But I'm not in the house,"_ the kid sniveled soundly, and fixed a serious look on Dean.

The boy crawled to his knees and then stood up with an innocent expression plastered on his round face.

"_You tried to leave me behind._" he stated coldly with his small voice. He then raised a little hand to place it on Dean's heart. "_But I've been with you all the time._"

Dean's body jerked backwards suddenly to avoid the contact, and his knees failed. He sensed Sam bustling to support his weight, but the younger brother couldn't keep both of them standing without Dean's collaboration, so he hooked his arm firmly around Dean's and eased him down to the floor.

"_I'm not like you!"_

"_I _am_ you."_

"_That's not true!"_

"_Why do you think that?"_

"Because you're weak! You're weak," Dean weakly shouted the words out loud.

The kid pinned Dean with an accusatory look and little by little his pout turned gloomy.

"_Is that why you hate me so much?"_

"Dean?"

Sam was shaking him now, but Dean was unable to take his eyes away from the image of his four-year old self. All of a sudden, red-orange flames came out the walls and surrounded him. When the flames reached the child, his young skin darkened and crumpled like burned paper to leave his flesh exposed to the blazing rage of the fire. His hair volatilized in rivulets of nauseating smoke that crept along the walls and up to the ceiling.

"No!"

The boy's eyes welled with panic before rolling to the back of his head. Then, just before he could voice the slightest cry of pain, the flames voraciously engulfed him. Dean became entranced by the ghastly image, and he felt the heat and the pull of the fire as his eyes glazed over.

"_I'm sorry, Dad."_

"_For what?"_

"_For being alive..."_

"Dean!"

Dean made a step towards the fire, but someone grabbed his chin and forced him to turn his head. Averting his eyes from the flames, Dean found himself looking into Sam's face.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can…_

Dean's muscles tensed, as soon as the house, the fire and Sam came together in a single thought. But the Sam looking back at him wasn't a baby anymore. Moreover, Dean wasn't holding him in his arms, because Sam was crouching in front of him and grabbing his shoulders urgently in an effort to coax him out of his daze.

"Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam corrected him. "But basically, yeah."

"The house…it's on fire. I have to…"

"There's no fire, bro."

"But I have to take you outside!"

Sam frowned.

"Look around you, Dean. There's no fire."

Dean blinked in confusion and glanced towards the corner where the vision of his younger self had last been standing before he returned his gaze to his brother.

"You're not hurt?" Dean asked, examining Sam carefully, as if he still expected to see burns on his brother's skin.

"No, you?"

"I…No, I just saw the fire."

"I know. But it wasn't real," Sam said, calmly.

Dean chuckled nervously and looked away, but he still appeared shaky to Sam. Giving his brother a moment to regain his lost equilibrium, Sam remained silent, and didn't move until Dean met his eyes again.

"It wasn't real, Dean," Sam repeated.

"Yeah, I know," Dean agreed, visibly uncomfortable.

"Good," Sam said, patting his brother's arm and starting to rise. "Can you stand up?"

Dean hesitated but eventually accepted the hand Sam offered him and let his little brother haul him to his feet.

"I didn't know you remembered the fire," the younger hunter said.

"So what?" Dean asked, shrugging defensively.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're not in any position to ask that, shining boy," Dean replied, after clearing his throat. Once he thought that he could trust his legs, he brushed Sam's hand away.

"Did you..." Sam paused and breathed in, "Did you see it? Did you see Mom, when…?

"No," Dean said, brusquely cutting off his brother.

Sam looked down and nodded.

"I didn't know that you were the one who took me outside either," Sam added softly.

"You didn't?"

Sam shook his head no and affectionately looked up at Dean, who just rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"It's not a big deal," Dean snapped, trying to put an end to the staring. "Did you finish the ritual?"

Sam nodded, accepting the change of subject.

"Only one to go," he confirmed encouragingly.

Dean snorted bitterly. Sure, only one to go and then all they'd have to do was find Mommy and _shoot_ her. Sam's expression sank, and he looked away sheepishly. Obviously the same thought had just crossed his little brother's mind, and he realized how stupid his previous reassuring words sounded. But at least he was trying, Dean said to himself.

"Sam…"

"It's okay," the younger hunter said, shrugging. "Let's go."

Sam headed to the door, but Dean held back, hesitating.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I- I think I just killed mini-me here."

Sam was going to reply, but his voice fell quiet when they heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Alone in the privacy of her bedroom, Missouri hung up the phone and twisted her hands so hard that the gold rings she was wearing left marks on her fingers. She released a deep sigh and closed her eyes as John's voice still rang in her ears. She was a powerful empath, and she was vulnerable to intense emotions if she didn't manage to block them. But blocking them was always harder with people she cared about, and it was made even harder when strong emotions were involved.

She couldn't think of a person she'd come to care more about through the years than John Winchester. And despite what people might think, probably despite himself, she'd known nobody who felt as strongly as he did. Missouri had never been able to shield herself from her best friend, and wouldn't want to even if she learned how. Not even if it meant being exposed to the most terrible of John's traits: his anger.

She took only a minute to collect herself and stop trembling before heading back to the living room. Sari and Richie were still sitting on the floor, but they were playing now. Apparently, the movie had just finished, since the credits were still rolling down the screen. Missouri smiled at the children's cheerful giggles and let their voices wash away the reminiscences of John's pain as her eyes scanned the room for Jennifer.

"Sari, honey? Where's your Mom?"

The girl laughed when Richie threw a cushion over her head and didn't answer until she made sure her little brother had been dealt the due payback.

"She forgot her cell and went home to pick it up," she replied worriless, dodging Richie's counter-attack.

Missouri felt literally drained of blood.

"Oh, my God," she breathed.

"But she said she'd be right back," the girl added, noticing Missouri's change of expression, "And she said we could watch the end of the movie…"

Missouri bit her tongue. She was scaring the kids.

"It's alright, honey," she mumbled clumsily.

But it wasn't. Nothing was alright, and truthfully she was the one who was scared.

"_You don't know what you've done!"_ John's words came back to her darkly._ "She can't be killed! Shooting her won't be enough!"_

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

When the door to her house opened without her having to use her key, Jennifer was surprised. She was sure that she had locked it. The woman made a step back and eyed the façade while chewing her lip. The house appeared calm, and so did the neighboring homes.

"How strange," she said to herself.

Since nothing else seemed off, she put her concerns to the back of her mind and entered the house. But she remained wary enough to unconsciously prick her ears and reach for the light switch as soon as she closed the door. A cold gust of air made her shiver, and her hair stood on end.

"This is silly," Jennifer thought, rubbing her arms to shake off the chilly sensation.

She glanced at the hall, and spotted her cell phone on the cabinet along the wall opposite to the stairs. Muttering in self-reproach, Jennifer walked to the cabinet and clasped the cell-phone in her hand. She was about to make a beeline out when a tingling sensation froze her midway.

"Jennifer…" a voice whispered.

Jennifer jumped and turned around with her heart pounding hard in her chest. Looking frantically right and then left, her eyes finally settled on the kitchen door. It was ajar, and for a second, she thought she saw a flicking light behind it. Jennifer gasped and clutched the phone even tighter.

"This is _really _silly," she mentally chastised herself once more.

She had spent too much time paying attention to Sari's nightmares. One of these days, Jennifer was going to have to have a serious talk with that young girl….

"Jennifer…"

Jennifer shuddered and her jaw clenched tensely. The light had flickered again, if only for a split second. The woman narrowed her eyes and raised the phone, her thumb hovering over the nine and one keys.

"Who is it?" Jennifer called out. "Is anybody there?"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Jennifer!" Dean hissed.

Sam's breath became laboured, and his eyes frantically darted from Dean to the door.

"I t-thought that Missouri had taken care of her," the younger hunter grumbled between gasps for breath.

"That's what I thought too, Sam!" Dean said, glaring at him.

"Dean…"

"Shhhh," Dean commanded. He grabbed Sam's arm and pushed him towards the wall, seizing the adequacy of any corner as a potential hideout. "She still may go out again…"

"Dean…" Sam's voice came out strangled.

"What?" Dean huffed impatiently.

Dean frowned and looked into Sam's dilated pupils, finding them full of perplexity. Under the hand he still kept on Sam's arm, Dean felt his little brother going rigid.

"Sam?"

"I, huh…I think…Dean, I can feel her now."

Sam tilted his head back against the wall and his Adam's apple wobbled inside his throat. Dean made a face of astonishment, but his heart raced and his hand reflexively clasped Sam's arm tighter.

"What do you mean?"

"Mom…Mom is here."

This wasn't right. Sam wasn't supposed to feel Mary's presence. Sam was supposed to be left out of that!

_Sam's a psychic_, Dean reminded himself.

Something about those words caused a wave of unease to rise in Dean, but he would be damned if he ever let Sam realize his apprehension about his abilities. Besides, psychic or not, Sam hadn't perceived a thing until now.

_Why now?_

"She's going to attack," Dean muttered, almost to himself.

At that moment, Jennifer's voice pierced the silence with a high-pitched shriek. Sam and Dean jumped in unison.

"No…No!" Sam breathed, throwing himself towards the door.

Dean stopped him and pinned him against the wall again.

"Dean!"

"Finish the ritual," Dean grunted, patting his brother hard on the chest.

Sam noticed Dean held the remaining herb sachets in his hand and was pressing them against him, so he raised his own hand to take them.

"But…"

"Finish the ritual, Sam," Dean insisted, his hand brushing his brother's as Sam grabbed the herbs. "I'll get Jennifer."

Dean picked up the rock salt gun they had left on the floor and rushed to the door.

"Dean!"

"Your room, Sammy! That's the last one."

"DEAN!"

"GO, SAM, GO!"

Sam fisted the sachets.

"Dammit."

And rushed to the room where it all had started.

**TBC**

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**So, what do you think? I'm not sure I'm really proud of this episode, it gave me a hard time. But you're the judges. Next episode already in process!**

**xx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi guys! How is summer treating you? I'm going on vacation this week, but I couldn't go without leaving a new chapter for you. Well, actually you've got to thank my beta Em for that, because she made sure I was able to make it. I owe you, girl!**

**Thanks to all readers and reviewers. I hope you enjoy it!**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 10. Welcome home_

Flying over the steps in groups of three, Dean ran down the stairs. In the landing of the first floor hall the hunter stopped and pivoted 360 degrees in an attempt to locate Jennifer. Not immediately seeing her, he hoped that at least the echo of her previous cry would magically guide him to the rescue.

"Jennifer?" Dean called out.

When she didn't respond, the hunter hesitated. Would she be in the living room or the kitchen? And why the hell was it suddenly so dark? Dean blinked and narrowed his eyes to try to pierce the gloom. His own mind seemed to be betraying him, and he advanced blindly through the hall with no real destination in mind other than anywhere that would break him away from his stupor.

"_Mom?"_

The mental call escaped his mind before he could control it, and Dean clenched his fists as he chastised his unruly thoughts. He was afraid of getting an answer but at the same time yearning for confirmation that his mother was there, somewhere, watching him. When the familiar scent of roses wrapped him in a warm embrace, Dean gulped and followed it towards the kitchen. He recognized perfectly that he was feeling Mary's presence all over the place, and he was feeling it with such a painful intensity that he thought he would suffocate under its weight. As soon as he went through the kitchen door though, his attention was drawn to Jennifer's limp, unconscious body, which was lying prone on the floor.

"Oh, God!" Dean exclaimed.

He rushed to Jennifer's side and kneeled to check for her pulse. It was there and strong but impossibly fast.

"No, no, no, no, c'mon," Dean mumbled as he patted her cheek. "Wake up."

Jennifer didn't respond, but he could see her eyes moving rapidly under her closed lids. His thoughts spinning, Dean ran a nervous hand through his hair. He needed to take her outside and call an ambulance because, judging by the soft spasms that were shaking her body, she was on the verge of seizing or possibly going into shock. Making a quick decision, Dean passed an arm below her shoulders and another under her knees to carry her out of the house. But when he lifted her and headed to the hall, he found himself facing Mary who was staring at him from the door.

"Baby, don't."

Dean stared back at his mother's ghost, in shock as her familiar voice knocked the wind out of him. He hadn't expected to see her like this. Even the previous day, when he had found her in Jennifer's room, what Dean had really seen was his mother standing in his parent's old room, and in some twisted way that had made sense. A disturbing kind of sense, but sense nonetheless. But now, no illusion of the past was backing her image up. She was there, real and solid right in front of him, not quite alive but moving in his own world.

_Alive…_

Without tearing his eyes from Mary, Dean eased Jennifer to the floor and reached out blindly for his gun. With the weapon in his hand, the young man focused on the smooth, metallic surface beneath his fingertips to help him keep his grip on reality as he slowly stood up and positioned himself between the two women.

"What have you done to her?" Dean rasped.

His throat was completely dry, and he swallowed to give some moisture to his vocal chords. Mary cocked her head slightly to the side and her blond hair fell off her shoulder in a waving cascade. As she stepped forwards, Dean took a tense, automatic step back and aimed the gun at her.

"D-Don't come any closer," he ordered.

Mary eyed the gun and then looked sadly at her son. A single glance from her was enough to make Dean feel smaller than he ever had before. The gun wavered in his hand, and he could only hope that the spirit wouldn't push him to the point where he'd have to discover whether he was able to pull the trigger or not.

"Why, Dean?"

"Why what?"

"Why is she more important to you than I am?"

"She's not," Dean said, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he was having a conversation with his very dead mother.

"Then _why_?"

"Because I can't let you hurt her. She's innocent."

"And I wasn't?", Mary's voice broke and bright tears began to roll down her cheeks.

His mother's crying shattered Dean's defenses, and he felt tears of his own welling in his eyes. His vision blurred, and his voice escaped him until the most he was able to utter was a crushed moan.

"Yes, you were," he said.

Mary sobbed and advanced. When Dean recoiled, his heels found Jennifer's body and he knew he wouldn't be able to withdraw any further.

"No," the hunter sniffled. "I mean it, don't come any closer."

Mary scowled at Dean, and distress deformed her features.

"I was a good mother, Dean. I could be again," she affirmed in a needy tone.

Dean's stomach churned as he realized that he and only he was causing his mother's distress.

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's…It's wrong."

"Is it? Is it that terrible that I want my family back?"

"This is not your family."

"It could be. It could all be like it was before. Richie and Sari, they could be my little children. I'd take good care of them."

"They need _their_ mother."

"And you? Don't you need your mother too?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, and his lips trembled. Then, as Mary made another step towards him, a wave of vertigo overcame him and the dizzying sensation of losing consciousness crept up his body as it had the day before. Behind him, Jennifer whimpered softly, almost as if she sensed the supernatural presence and was trying to react against it even while she was unconscious.

"Mom, please," Dean choked. "You're hurting me."

"I would never hurt you."

"You're not yourself."

Mary stopped dead in her tracks, almost as if she was really taking in his son's paleness for the first time and becoming aware that she was provoking his pain. Hurt and remorse twisted her expression, and her eyes welled with tears once more. For a split second, Dean knew it was his mother, the same Mary he had known and loved, who was looking at him through the tears. And that knowledge was even harder to stand.

"I just wish I could hug you," she cried.

Dean felt like he was about to give in, but at that moment Mary vanished before his eyes.

"Mom!"

This time the voice that sounded inside his head was devoid of any humanity.

"_I want my house back!"_

Jennifer moaned, and Dean swirled around to point the gun into the emptiness around them. Even though his eyes nervously scanned every inch of the room, he couldn't find his mother's spirit anywhere, and helplessness paralyzed him in a grip more deadly than fear.

"You'll be okay," Dean said, nervously fingering the gun trigger.

Jennifer hadn't regained consciousness, and Dean was aware that rather than reassuring her, he was reassuring only himself, but he couldn't stop whispering encouraging words into the air. His muscles were so taut that his arms didn't register the weight of the weapon, and the hunter clasped and unclasped it compulsively, just to make sure it was still in his hands.

"You'll be okay."

As seconds passed by, he sounded less convinced. As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared, especially since Sam should have finished the ritual by now. He _should_ be here.

"Hurry up, Sam," he mumbled under his breath, as he crouched to shield Jennifer's body with his own. "Hurry up."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam ran to Sari's room, the room that had once been his and headed directly to its Southern wall. He held his breath and tried to shut himself off from the evil energy that floated around, but he seemed to have no control over his senses now that his psychic flood-gates were open. The air, full of supernatural presence, crackled and made the hunter's skin tingle and turn into goose-flesh. As he wrestled clumsily with the sachet lace, he seriously considered the idea of tearing it open with his teeth if the damn knot kept refusing to be untied. Unfortunately, his hands were shaking, and that wasn't exactly helping him in his personal fight to open the little packet. Sam lost his nerve and pulled his jackknife out of his pocket to cut the linen.

"Shit," he grunted when the blade reached through the sachet to the tender skin between his middle and ring fingers.

Ignoring the drop of blood oozing from the cut, Sam kneeled and arranged the leaves of houseleek and juniper in the pattern that Missouri had instructed them to. He was focusing so hard on remembering Dean's movements in the three previous rooms that his eyes narrowed to slits. When he finished, he fumbled for the bottle of holy water and poured it over the herbs. Some drops spilled over his own hands and mixed with his blood before landing on the exorcising pattern. A sharp throb began to hammer his skull, and Sam grimaced. He held his breath to keep a groan from forming in his throat but couldn't help the pained tears that sprouted in his eyes.

"Dean," Sam hissed between clenched teeth, the name now more of a heartening word than an actual call to him.

Dean needed him now; he had entrusted Sam with a job and that job was to finish the ritual. His brother's name gave him the courage to overcome the pain and start reciting the Latin prayer.

The hunter kept his eyes closed in order to save his strength and recited the prayer by heart. As the words flooded unstoppably in an angered torrent, the pressure inside his head became almost unbearable. Sam slumped forward and rested his forehead against the wall. His sight blurred into white, and his consciousness wavered excruciatingly like a giant EMF detector that couldn't be switched off.

_So are you coming for me now?_

He kept reciting anyhow, oblivious to the lamp cord behind him that was unplugging itself and crawling towards him. Then, just before Sam could finish the prayer, the cord wrapped around his neck and threw him backwards to the floor.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Jennifer stirred, and Dean risked a glance towards her to notice the erratic rise and fall of her chest. The spasms had subsided, but in return her pulse was fainter, and she looked so pale that during the short intervals between inhalations and exhalations, she already seemed dead.

"_I'll be a mom again,"_ Mary's voice hissed.

Suddenly, Jennifer's breath hitched, making Dean jump.

"No, Mom, don't! You can't have her!" Dean cried into the void. "Don't you understand?"

"_I'll be a person again…"_

"No, it _won't_ work! You'll kill her! Just like you killed Marcia!"

The air stilled, a brief pause, before the halting cry of Mary's voice rang out.

"_I don't want to be alone anymore!"_

Dean's heart almost stopped as his mother's cry echoed the words spoken by the vision of the child he had seen. The child he had been.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, "But you can't come back, Mom. You _can't_ come back."

"_I _won't_ be alone anymore."_

Jennifer's body jolted as she took a loud intake of air.

"Mom!" Dean yelled.

Jennifer's back arched, and her eyes popped open. She convulsed, and her arms flailed spasmodically.

"No!" Dean shouted again, tightening his grip on the gun, but still feeling useless with no target to aim at. "Sam! For Christ's sake, SAM!"

He took Jennifer's shaking body in his arms and garbled the first protection spell that came across his mind. The woman went limp against his chest, and her breath was reduced to frantic inhalations that were very much like Dean's. He felt himself slowly falling into despair and desperately fought against the descent.

"I won't let you have her," Dean grunted.

"_You can't stop me."_

Dean pursed his lips tightly and set his jaw stubbornly. Yes, he could. He only had to keep the spirit away long enough for Sam to...

Jesus Christ, where was Sam?

"_You can't protect them both,"_ Mary's voice came again, as if she had just read his thoughts.

"What?"

The older hunter felt a rush of adrenaline shake his insides and his body jolted as it readied itself to jump towards the door and run to Sam. But in the last second he realized what going to his brother would take, and Dean's heart sank in his chest as he froze with Jennifer still in his arms.

"No…" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"_You'll have to choose."_

"No," Dean muttered again.

He held Jennifer's body tighter and rocked with her.

"_Choose, Dean."_

Dean shut his eyes and squeezed Jennifer's back. This couldn't be happening, not like this. _Not like this._

"I'm sorry."

Dean released Jennifer and eased her body to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Jennifer."

Clenching his fists, Dean stood up and glared at the door.

"_You're doing the right thing, baby."_

"I know," he muttered.

Dean turned around abruptly and reached over the kitchen counter for a glass salt shaker. In a split second he smashed it against the wall and the salt, along with Dean's blood covered Jennifer's body in a protective shower. After that he threw himself towards the kitchen door and upstairs to get his brother.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Sam!" Dean called out as he ran towards Sari's room.

The absence of answer fuelled his anxiousness and quickened his pace. The room's door was half closed, but Dean unceremoniously kicked it open. It took less than a second for him to set his eyes on Sam. His little brother was sprawled on the floor tossing around in agony with his hands clasped around his neck. At first, Dean was too stunned to understand what was happening or why Sam was losing the battle for air. Then, he noticed the cord that was strangling him.

"Sammy, no!" Dean cried.

The older Winchester stooped next to Sam, who still fought desperately to loosen the cord between gasps, and snapped away his little brother's weakened hands to grab the cord himself. Pulling with all his might and groaning with the effort, Dean still failed to loosen the choking grip even an inch.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean roared.

Sam's frantic eyes focused on his brother's for a terrible moment, and they watered as his chest moved spasmodically in a grotesque parody of breath. Dean released a feral growl and pulled harder.

"_Mom, no! Let him go!"_

Sam moaned and tried to grab the cord too, but as the lack of oxygen squeezed the life out of him, his tossing grew weaker and his lips started turning blue.

"_Mom, he's your son!"_

Dean furiously blinked tears away and ground his teeth. His arms felt heavy and the cord was making his hands raw, but he resolutely buried his fingers in Sam's throat to get a better hold of the cord. The younger hunter whimpered in pain.

"C'mon!" Dean huffed.

Sam's feeble lament broke into a panting sob when Dean pulled again, but the cord didn't give. Dean used all his weight as a counterbalance to yank it, but his effort was fruitless. Trying to tear it apart obtained the same empty results it would have if the cord had been made of steel. Dean felt hope vanishing as fast as Sam's life was slipping away between his fingers.

"_He's my brother…"_

Sam's hands rested on his brother's wrists and squeezed them softly. His eyes were becoming glassy, but when Dean finally met his brother's gaze, he found them intent and extremely lucid beneath the tears.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "Don't you dare look good-bye to me, you moron."

Sam's brow furrowed a little. He blinked and the tears that were pooled in his eyes fell and rolled down his temples. Horrified, Dean saw that no fresh tears replaced them. Sam's eyes became blank and fixed as he parted his lips and made a final gasp for air.

"No!" Dean begged.

The older Winchester gripped the cord harder and pulled for all he was worth.

"_Mommy, _please_. Don't take him. I'll stay. I'll stay, but please let him go!" _

The cord gave way with a sudden snap, and Dean fell backwards between Sam's legs.

"Sam!" Dean cried.

The older hunter hauled Sam's limp body into a sitting position and unwrapped the cord from his brother's neck. His hands seemed made of jell-o as he fumbled with the cable, and his heart pounded impossibly hard against his ribs. As soon as the cord loosened, Sam slumped backwards again, but Dean grabbed him in time and pulled him against his chest.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I got you."

Dean rubbed his brother's back, but the younger hunter didn't react. Panicking, Dean patted Sam's back harder. He ended up pounding Sam's back with his fists, but the hollow thuds against his baby brother's body were the only vibration animating Sam's chest, and they sounded so much like drumming on an empty shell that Dean's stomach clenched.

"Sammy, breathe, NOW!"

Suddenly the younger hunter took a sharp intake of air. With that, Dean discovered that his heart could indeed beat harder than he had thought possible.

"That's my boy," Dean encouraged Sam with a cracking voice.

His whole body shaking, Sam struggled for breath, but each mouthful of air he managed to take was more ragged than the previous one. A violent shudder took over his body, and Sam started to cough so hard that he practically stopped getting any air at all. He panicked and tried to jerk away, but Dean tightened his hold on him and kept him still.

"Easy now," Dean hushed into Sam's hair. "Breathe slowly, kiddo."

Dean felt his little brother's trembling hands fisting the back of his shirt and little by little, Sam's coughing subsided as he gasped against Dean's shoulder. His labored breath gradually turned into a soft panting that matched the rhythm in which Dean was stroking his back. Up and down, in and out. Up and down, in and out…

"That's it," Dean said, sighing in relief.

After a beat, he briefly squeezed the back of Sam's neck and pulled away just enough to see Sam's face. The younger brother's lips had regained their, color and Sam's skin was getting there, but his eyes were still closed.

"Hey," Dean coaxed. "Talk to me."

Sam's eyes fluttered open, but it took him a couple of seconds to focus on his surroundings. When he finally did, his expression became cryptic.

"Sam, please, say something," Dean insisted, and his tone made it clear that his brother's behavior was scaring the crap out of him.

Sam locked eyes with Dean and blinked a couple of times before he spoke.

"Amen," he murmured to close the ritual.

Taken aback, Dean frowned and eyed his brother carefully.

"What?"

Sam gave a smile as his only response. It was a fragile, tired smile, but one that was full of the characteristic candidness that Sam demonstrated when he was really satisfied with himself and was looking to Dean in search of approval. When Dean understood, he couldn't help but smile back at his baby brother's goofy grin. Despite the weakness of that beloved smile, it had remained unaltered through the years and was now beaming on Sam's clammy face like a beacon in the dark.

Dean doubted he had ever been so close to telling Sam that he loved him as he was now.

"Good job, Sam."

Sam's smile got as wide as it was going to get, and then his jaw relaxed, and he looked down. Dean patted his brother's back and gave his shoulder a strong squeeze.

"Dude," Sam said with raspy voice. "You're hugging me."

Dean snorted and let go of Sam.

"Nah, you're dreaming, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

His little brother released Dean's shirt and let his hands gently drop off of his brother's back. The truth was that Dean hadn't realized how tightly Sam was clinging onto his clothes until now that he had all of the fabric back. If he had realized, he'd have probably thought of a better retort to shut up his pain of a little brother who _he_ had definitely _not_ been hugging.

"Whatever," Dean huffed.

Sam reached for the marks on his neck that were left by the cord and winced.

"You okay?" Dean immediately asked.

"Yeah. Help me up."

Dean stood and helped Sam to his feet. The latter swallowed painfully and leaned a hand on the wall for support.

"Can you breathe?"

"I'm fine," Sam said, nodding. "W-Where's Jennifer?"

"Downstairs. C'mon, we have to take her out of here."

"Is she alright?"

"Should be. Can you walk?"

"I said I'm fine," Sam said, and confirmed his statement by stepping away from the wall. "Let's go."

When Sam and Dean got back to the kitchen, Jennifer was unconscious in the same position Dean had left her. There was salt on and around her, along with tiny pieces of shattered glass from the salt shaker that Dean had smashed. Sam took in the scene and glanced at Dean questioningly, but when the older hunter averted his gaze, Sam decided that any explanation could wait until later. Both brothers went up to Jennifer's side, but Sam made way for Dean unconsciously, since the older Winchester was in better position to take the woman on his shoulders.

"Take her," Dean said tensely. "I'll cover you."

Sam frowned slightly, if only for a second, and Dean read the hesitation in his brother's eyes as he glared intently at him. Dean kept his composure and didn't allow himself to fidget under the scrutiny.

"Are you hurt?"

"We don't have time for this."

"You're bleeding," Sam said, nodding towards Dean's hands.

"It's just a cut. Sammy, c'mon! You said you were fine, can you carry her or not?"

Sam puffed out an exasperated breath of air, and Dean felt guilty.

"Of course I can," Sam grunted, exactly as Dean knew he would.

Sam passed Jennifer's right arm over his shoulders and positioned his left arm waist high under her back and his right arm under her knees before rising with her in his arms. He swayed slightly once he regained a vertical position, and Dean placed one hand on his back.

"C'mon," Dean whispered. He kept his hand between his brother's shoulders until they were out of the kitchen and then, when he was sure Sam wouldn't stumble, he pushed him gently down the hall. "Go."

It all happened in slow motion. Suddenly his voice was thick, and Dean could only trust that Sam wouldn't notice, or at least that he would be too busy with Jennifer to bother turning around and facing him on his way to the front door. He was grateful when Sam didn't turn, although when his little brother made it to the garden, a part of Dean wished that Sam would notice that he had slowed down and wasn't following him through the door.

"Careful about what you wish for," he thought, his throat constricting when Sam did turn around to stare at him wide-eyed from outside.

"Dean?"

And he wished that instead of voicing his name in such a forsaken tone, Sam had simply called him "jerk," so that he could "bitch" him back and trust that his geek brother would get the subtext.

"Do it," Dean murmured. "Do it now."

"DEAN!"

Sam's cry was muffled when an extraordinary pulse of energy slammed the front door closed.

"I've missed you, son," a different voice called him from the inside of the house.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Dean shut his eyes, but his lips curved to form a sad smile. When the young man brought himself to turn around, he found Mary standing behind him, more beautiful than ever and with her arms opened lovingly towards her son.

"Yeah, I've missed you too."

Dean advanced towards her.

"Welcome home, baby. Welcome home"

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**Cliffie? Me? Nah…**

**Alright, sorry. Don't hate me!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Alright, alright, I know it. After your amazing response to the last chapter's cliffie, the least I can do is avoid rambling! Thanks to all of you, really. You're the best!**

**As always, a big THANKS to my beta!**

**Here we go...**

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 11. Family_

"_Dean…My baby, my beautiful baby. It's been a long time."_

"_I know."_

"_You had to forget about me before you could come back?"_

"_It…It wasn't like that."_

"_But all those times, when you were a child. You didn't want to come in. As much as I called you, you stayed outside. Didn't you hear me?"_

"_I did. But I was scared._"

"_Scared of me? Why?"_

"_Because I didn't understand why you were still here. Because you had…died."_

"_And now, you understand?"_

"_Yes, Mom. I do."_

"_But you're still scared. Is it because you don't love me anymore?"_

"_That's not true. I love you."_

"_But you've come to kill me. Honey, I can't let you kill me."_

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The mild air of the night caressed the hunter's skin which had become heated by the effort of carrying Jennifer's body outside. The breeze that should have been refreshing made him shiver instead. His limbs were still heavy after having been deprived of oxygen and then brusquely brought back to life just a few minutes ago. Probably for the same reason, his head felt funny. The moment he got out of the house, a sensation of coldness, difficult to locate and impossible to grasp, took over him. Holding his breath, he turned around. His brother hadn't come out of the house yet, and Sam narrowed his eyes to watch Dean through the opened doorway of the house. His older brother was standing in the hall, biting his lower lip. Unmoving.

"Dean?" Sam asked, frowning.

When he took in the sadness of Dean's expression, a chill ran across his spine. He tried to fool himself into believing that Dean was simply hanging back to make sure that nothing followed from the inside, and that nobody saw them from the outside. But the truth was that even while his brain was coming up with that rational justification, his voice was faltering at the sight of Dean's face. It was as if his unconscious perception knew better than any conscious attempt to convince himself that Dean wasn't staying behind willingly.

"DEAN!"

The door closed with a sudden bang, and Sam's cry caught painfully inside his throat when the wave of energy that had caused the door to slam reached his senses and crushed him off balance. Groaning, the hunter set a knee on the ground and balanced Jennifer against his chest until the sensation subsided. For a couple of seconds, he was petrified. He simply couldn't bring his mind to process what had happened and somehow, he still expected that Dean would step out as if nothing had happened, and it had only been a gust of wind that had closed the door.

_No, no, no…_

Jennifer moaned weakly, and Sam eased the woman's body to the ground. He felt her forehead and kept his hand there without tearing his eyes from the front door.

"Dean!" Sam called his brother again.

Jumping to his feet, Sam was back at the door in a heartbeat, only to crash into solid wood that refused to open regardless of how hard he pushed it. His efforts fruitless, Sam tried to break the lock open, but discovered that the door was actually unlocked. It seemed like the door was rather blocked from the inside, but by what or by who, Sam didn't know.

"Open the door!" Sam ordered, his voice edging into hysterics. "Open the door! Goddammit, Dean, don't do this!"

The younger hunter pounded the door hard, over and over, as tears started to sting in the corners of his eyes. It was impossible that Dean didn't hear him. Damn him! He wanted to scream, and he wanted to cry. Over all he wanted to punch Dean with all his goddamn might and yell at him. Who the hell did Dean think he was to decide that Sam wasn't allowed to say good-bye to him, especially when Dean felt entitled to make his little brother live with a farewell smile engraved on his retina for the rest of his life?

But the rest of the neighborhood would hear him if he didn't get a hold of himself. And since they would be less likely to ignore his yelling than his brother would at this point and were probably much readier to call the police, Sam swallowed the rage and stepped back, determined to calm down and think. By his side, Jennifer was starting to stir and regain some color back, but her breath was still irregular. Although her life wasn't in danger anymore, she still needed a hospital. Who knew what Mary had really done to her?

The problem was that right now, Sam could only think of Dean.

Hesitant, Sam eyed the Impala parked down the street, and then took Jennifer in his arms and quickly crossed the road to head towards the car. Once there, he managed to open the back door and carefully placed Jennifer lying across the back seat.

"You'll be okay," Sam whispered. "I'll be back."

The hunter closed the door and stared at the unconscious woman for a second before running back to the house. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribs, and he could feel the blood beating in his temples so hard that the previous dizziness was rapidly turning into pain. He needed to find a way in before dizziness, headache or panic got in the way of sense.

_Think, Sam, think._

The windows were barred, so he wouldn't be able to break through one of them. He tried to get hold of Dean by phone, but for some reason there was no signal. The back door was also closed. The thought of climbing inside the Impala and crashing it into the wall as he had done in Jericho crossed his mind.

_Yeah, like _that_ is not going to wake the neighbors up._

Regardless, Constance's old house in Jericho had been barely standing when he crashed the car into its walls. On the contrary, Jennifer's house was strongly built, and Sam had serious doubts about whether it would be the house or the Impala that would give way if he was forced to take a chance and find out.

Or his neck, for that matter.

Feeling helpless, Sam hit the door once more, and his previous reflective composure shattered against the wooden surface.

"DEAN!"

The hunter ended up pressing his head against the door with his fists raw and hurting. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on whatever powers he was supposed to have, whatever force that had allowed him to connect with Dean before.

"Dean…Dean, please. Can you hear me? Don't do this to me. Not again," Sam muttered.

_We're in this together…_

Those words of his, uttered before entering the house earlier that night, seemed now nothing but a joke. A useless joke, just as his so-called powers were. Just as _he_ was.

"Sam."

Sam jolted and turned to find Missouri standing behind him, her big, dark eyes wide with worry.

"Missouri!" Sam exclaimed.

Or rather sobbed, because he was unable to stop his voice from breaking. The younger Winchester went to her, grasped her small hands strongly, and looked at her with despair. He couldn't care less why and how she had come. He was simply too happy to see her.

"Missouri, I need your help," he pleaded fervently, almost dragging the older woman up the stairs of the porch.

"What happened?" the woman asked quickly, scared at the young's man distress.

"We were finishing the ritual, but…Jennifer came and…Dean…he…" Sam babbled uncontrollably.

"Jennifer? Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's…she was on the floor, and…her pulse…I don't know. I took her, but Dean…" Sam trailed off, his voice falling, as if he was left with no wind to talk.

"You're not breathing, honey," Missouri soothed. "Please, calm down."

Sam swallowed and closed his eyes in an attempt to gain control. He was aware that he wasn't making any sense, and if he wanted to help Dean, he was going to need to behave as hunter, instead of the panicked child he was acting like now.

After breathing in and out a couple of times, Sam got a grip on himself, and although it was a feeble one he knew it was as strong as it was going to get given the circumstances. At least, and with a bit of luck, it would be strong enough to render him able to fill Missouri in and then get her to _help_ him. That was all that he wanted, and the only thing he could think of at the moment. If Missouri helped him, everything would be okay.

"Jennifer's in the car," Sam explained hoarsely, as soon as he got some air back in his lungs. "She's unconscious, but otherwise I think she's fine."

Her face paling, Missouri turned around hastily and glanced towards the Impala. Sam squeezed the psychic's hands tighter to stop her from rushing to the car. Missouri noticed the pressure and locked eyes with Sam quizzically. Her expression shone with fear and understanding.

"Dean's still inside?"

"Yes," Sam growled. "But, I can't open the door. Something's blocking it. I…I think that she has him."

"What? How?"

"I don't know!" Sam yelled in frustration.

He quickly chastised himself, but he could sense himself losing it with every passing second. Missouri flinched and appeared physically shaken by the young man's emotions.

"Missouri," Sam went on. "You said I could connect with him. I need to do that now. I have to help him."

"Sam, I…"

"Whatever you did in your house, what you did to me, I need you to do it again now," Sam said emphatically, shaking the woman's hands inside his grasp.

"Sam…I don't know if it's a good idea," she said, hesitating.

"Why?" he snapped, feeling the bile rising inside his throat.

The woman had spent the last two days prompting him to embrace a "gift" he hated, and now that he needed it to work, she intended to back down?

Missouri pursed her lips.

"You're not ready, Sam. At my place, you were safe, and I made sure that the connection lasted less than a minute. And yet, you collapsed after that. To try it here, now, like this, it's too dangerous."

"I don't care!"

"You should."

"Please," Sam begged. "I've tried to do it myself, but I don't know how. He's alone in there, and I need to reach him. I just…he's my brother. _Please._"

Missouri sighed.

"I know."

The psychic gave a squeeze of her own to the hunter's hands and took a deep breath.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure," Sam said, nodding.

Missouri eyed him a bit longer, piercing his soul with sharp, intent eyes, until she seemed to realize Sam was serious about his decision and wouldn't back down. She closed her eyes and Sam felt induced to do the same. As soon as he did, he felt strongly shaken, as if hit by a giant wave. Sam gasped, and his body fought the connection.

"Sam…" he overheard Missouri's concerned voice.

Sam realized that he was shaking badly. There was too much energy around, both inside his weakened body and outside his whirling mind. But when Missouri tried to let go of him, Sam held her tighter.

"No…" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Sam, don't. It's rejecting you."

"I can do it," he croaked.

_Let me in._

The energy emanating from the house turned stronger, more violent and suffocated him as it wrapped invisible fingers around the hunter. Sam moaned, feeling his mind ripped and flooded with darkness he had never experienced before. Missouri paled, when she felt the echo of the pain the young man was enduring. That echo alone was enough to make her head throb.

"She won't let you. She's too powerful," the woman said in between gasps for air.

"I can do it!" Sam repeated.

But even while he said those words, his knees buckled.

_Dean, let me in…Let.Me.In._

Sam focused on his brother, thought about him with all his might. Despite the pain, despite everything, he was going to reach Dean.

And she wasn't going to stop him.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean walked in a haze, allowing his body to be drawn to his mother's warmth. The scent of roses was no longer sickening, but lulling. He felt drunk, a bit number with every sickly sweet mouthful of air he took in, and every step he made. He relished the sensation and wondered why he had been so scared of it for all of those years. Losing himself wasn't that terrible. After all, he wasn't up to much.

"Come here," he heard Mary's soft whisper when she wrapped her arms around him.

Dean complied, closed his eyes and sank his face into the crook of her neck.

"Mom," he murmured dazedly. He wasn't sure if it was voiced as a needy call, a greeting or an attempt to confirm her presence by prompting her to answer.

Mary rocked him against her. It was comforting, although her flesh wasn't exactly solid. Leaning onto her was like resting against a soft pillow that gave way under the pressure but nevertheless supported his weight. It felt good. At least it did if he ignored the tingling of his body beneath the dullness. He remembered how Mary's proximity had affected him before, and how it had come close to killing Jennifer. He knew that he was walking the line of consciousness by letting go in her arms. It was like falling deeper and deeper, but he somewhat expected that his mother's embrace would cushion the fall.

The rest wasn't important anymore.

Dean knew that his brother was calling him. He could hear Sam in the distance as a frightened little voice nagging him in the back of his mind. Dean tried to shut it off, instead focusing on the fact that Sam was safe. He had made sure of that. But ignoring Sam turned out to be harder than expected. Dean couldn't ignore his little brother when the kid was scared.

"Shhh, it's okay now," Mary hushed.

She started humming next to his ear, a monotonous lullaby that succeeded in erasing Sam's desperate cry from Dean's consciousness and soothed her firstborn into a sort of trance. The older hunter didn't realize that his knees were giving way until Mary's spirit had to tighten its hold on him. He did notice, however, when Mary disentangled herself from him to cup his face in her hands.

"Mom?" Dean muttered, his glazed eyes drowning into hers.

This time, it was a question.

"Come with me," she replied, gently guiding him upstairs.

Dean allowed her to lead him, vaguely registering that his surroundings were changing as they climbed the steps. Once moment they were in Jennifer's house, and the next the walls flickered, the furniture changed, and Dean was walking the corridors of his old house, as it had been when the Winchester family lived there.

"What's going on?"

"Home."

Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and felt satisfied with that simple answer. It made sense. And anyway, before he had time to give it any more thought, Dean found himself in his old room, blinking in confusion.

"Do you like it?" Mary asked cheerfully.

She had moved to one of the corners right next to Dean's bed and was waving her arms around, pointing at the blue-painted walls, the toys and the light-wood furniture with a glowing smile. Dean tilted his head without understanding, until the smell of fresh paint filled his nostrils. He remembered then, that exact day, the first time he had seen his new room. John and Mary had been working on it for a week, but they had wanted to keep it as a surprise. Looking back now, Dean imagined Mary had been already pregnant with Sam at the time, and his parents had naturally been preparing Dean's old room, the room closer to theirs, to be little Sammy's nursery. Dean had only been three years old then and had known nothing about his little brother coming yet. He had merely been excited, because as his mother had said, he was a grown boy and was moving from his old room next door, to this bigger one. By the time Sammy had been born, Dean had practically forgotten his nursery had ever been his, and he hadn't felt displaced by the newborn.

The hunter walked to the middle of the room and turned around to gape at it. He chose not to pay attention when the vision of the chamber shone unsteadily, as if he was looking at it through a steamed up glass.

"You said you liked blue, right?" Mary asked. "Have you seen the curtains? I thought you'd like the planes…"

Dean smiled at the little red and blue planes that trimmed the curtains, and he suddenly felt a bit warmer inside. Seeing his mother so happy was like a dream and knowing that her happiness was due to him was overwhelming. He couldn't remember anybody ever being so happy to see him, or so excited by the mere prospect of pleasing him.

"I love it, Mom. Thanks."

She beamed and took Dean's hand between hers, dragging him playfully around to show him where she had put the toys, the clothes… The toys and clothes of a child.

"Are you hungry?" Mary asked. "Wait here, and Mommy will make you some pancakes."

The second she offered, Dean swore he could really smell them.

"Can I have them with chocolate?" he heard himself questioning. His voice sounded weird, younger…not quite his.

Mary's lips tugged in a familiar mischievous smile while she nodded. The next second, Dean was alone in his bedroom, although he didn't remember having seen Mary actually leave through the door. Consciously refusing to give it too much thought, Dean ran his fingers over the soft surface of the dresser before going out to the corridor. He distractedly walked the second floor, peeking into rooms he had no idea he remembered so well until the moment he was inside them and realized he knew their every detail.

Only one door was closed, that of the room next to Dean's. As Dean stopped in front of it, he felt a pang of longing sparkling somewhere inside him. Dean bit his lip and fingered the knob.

"Dean?" he heard Mary behind him.

Startled, Dean turned around. At doing so, something else caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey…" Dean muttered.

Mini-Dean was staring at him from his bedroom threshold with a look of curiosity on his face.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Dean continued, his own voice sounding distant.

The child grinned and rushed to Mary, who stood next to the stairs. She took him, held him with automatic familiarity, one arm over her hip and petting his hair with her free hand. Both fit together so perfectly that Dean couldn't help but ache watching them: his mother, and her _four-_year old child.

"Wanna play?" the child enticed Dean innocently.

Dean swallowed thickly.

"Not before dinner," Mary chided gently. "Plus, I believe I told you to tidy up your room, didn't I, young man?"

Dean wasn't sure whether she was talking to the kid or to him, because Mary's eyes were locked with his…But then, he wasn't a little child anymore.

"You're right," Dean said. "We can play later. But I, huh…" he hesitated, tearing himself from Mary's intoxicating eyes. "Can I have one of those pancakes and tidy up the room afterwards?"

Mary smiled, her eyes sparkling.

"Okay, sweetie, but we won't tell Dad."

Dean smiled back weakly.

_No, we won't. We won't._

"Fine, I'll be right back."

Dean made his way towards the stairs, passing by Mary's side and then stumbled his way down and into the kitchen, where he leaned heavily against the table to steady himself. Every step he made, ever since Mary had appeared, was harder than the one before. On top of that, although at first the dizziness came only when she was around, now Dean was starting to feel drained and his vision was blurry all the time. He couldn't tell whether it was because of her or out of exhaustion. He had to hurry while he was still in control of his thoughts, because he knew he was about to collapse any minute, and he feared once he gave in he wouldn't be able to get his bearings anymore. Looking around, Dean scanned the kitchen. That room looked like it had once been as well, so homey and _normal_ that Sam would flip out.

Why he allowed himself to think of Sam at that moment, he didn't know. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was closer now, just across the hall. Just behind the front door.

_Snap out of it!_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to focus so hard that his head, that had been blissfully numb for the last ten or fifteen minutes, started pounding.

_Dean, c'mon!_

When the hunter opened his eyes, the vision of the old kitchen faltered but didn't vanish.

Fighting the glamour proved to be more painful than Dean had expected. He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath with a tense smile.

If there was one thing the older Winchester could deal with, it was pain.

"One…" he started, his voice nothing but a low groan.

By five, Dean was barely able to walk, but he had spotted what he needed. He made a last effort and propped himself up with the help of the table edge before staggering to the corner next to the counter. There, his legs wobbled, and Dean slid down to the floor.

"Dean?"

Dean's heart jumped when he looked up and saw Mary before him.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he choked.

His hand grasped the rock salt gun he had dropped earlier on the floor next to Jennifer.

"I really am."

He pointed the gun at her. And then pulled the trigger.

The load of salt went off with a blast, and Mary screamed in agony when the crystals reached her, pierced her body, and sent her against the wall.

"Dean!" she cried.

Disbelief, dejection, hurt. Her voice was so heavy with those emotions that Dean had to avert his eyes, unable to watch.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated. "God, I'm so sorry…"

"Yeah, me too."

The hunter felt his throat tightening so hard that he practically stopped breathing. Reluctantly, he looked up and shook his head in confusion at the sight of his mother getting up unharmed.

"No…" Dean shook his head, no longer able to blink back the tears. "Why…how…?" he croaked.

Dejected, Mary glared at him and ignored his questions.

"I wanted to make it right for you, Dean. I wanted to make a home for us. We could have been happy."

"Why?" he asked again.

Despair was noticeable in his tone, as he no longer talked to her really, but sobbed the word quietly to himself.

"I wanted you to stay with me. I thought you wanted that too," Mary said, pursing her lips. "I guess I was wrong. We're different now. We're no longer a family."

Dean didn't retort. He didn't look capable of saying anything to anybody at that point. He just looked at her wide-eyed.

"But I know how to fix it," Mary continued. "I know what it'll take to make us the same again. For us to be together again."

Dean gasped and pressed himself against the wall as a blaze of fire, born out of nothing, suddenly rose around them.

"Mom…"

The fire crept up the walls and advanced across the floor, cornering Dean, enveloping him in a coffin of flame and smoke.

"Don't worry, baby. It'll only hurt at first. And then…It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

Dean coughed and squirmed but couldn't find the strength to fight. Pulling that trigger had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and now he was simply expended in every possible sense. His body had already decided to give up, and his mind couldn't find anything left worth clinging to. Since his eyes stung from the smoke, Dean closed them and let darkness appease the burning sensation that told him that he was going to die. After a little while, he wasn't able to remember why that was such a bad thing when it was exactly how it had been meant to be.

Twenty-two years ago.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**Uh-oh…Dean's in trouble! Sam? Sam, do something! C'mon, let's encourage him all together!**

**I'll try to update soon, thanks again!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone! As I promised, here you have the next installment! Thanks so much for your support, and thanks to my super-beta, Em! Without further ado, back to the story!**

_Previously_

_Dean coughed and squirmed but couldn't find the strength to fight. Pulling that trigger had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and now he was simply expended in every possible sense. His body had already decided to give up, and his mind couldn't find anything left worth clinging to. Since his eyes stung from the smoke, Dean closed them and let darkness appease the burning sensation that told him that he was going to die. After a little while, he wasn't able to remember why that was such a bad thing when it was exactly how it had been meant to be._

_Twenty-two years ago._

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 12. Unfinished Business_

"DEAN!"

As he screamed and fell to his knees, Sam let go of Missouri's hands to grab at his head. An excruciating pain made him see nothing but white, and he felt his body convulsing.

"Sam!" Missouri yelped.

The younger hunter groaned.

"Sam, let it go! You have to let it go _now_!"

"NO!"

Moaning in pain, Missouri took a step back as a wave of energy came out of the slumped form of the hunter like a punch and knocked the wind out of her. Beside them, the main door vibrated and suddenly snapped open.

"Oh my Gosh," Missouri wheezed, her eyes incredulously darting from Sam to the door.

Still trembling like a leaf, Sam had his knuckles buried in his forehead and was panting heavily.

"Sam…?" the psychic called, her voice laced with concern.

"Call 911," Sam growled.

His eyes were glazed even as he scrambled back to his feet. To Missouri, it didn't appear he had any idea that he had practically blown the door off of the house with just the power of his mind. She, on the contrary, was petrified.

"Call 911, Missouri!" Sam ordered anxiously, when the woman didn't react, "The house is on fire!"

Missouri jumped to her feet and nodded. That gesture was all the cue Sam needed to burst into the house.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam ran to the closed kitchen door ignoring the heat emanating from it and kicking it open. Immediately, he was blinded by a thick cloud of smoke but was quick enough to duck a blaze of fire drawn by the open door.

"Dean!" Sam called in between coughs. "Dean!"

Sam made his way through the fire, barely thinking, barely feeling. He was on autopilot, focused only on finding his brother. He finally saw Dean hunched in a corner and knelt next to him so that he could shake him by the shoulders.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam coaxed. "Talk to me!"

When Dean didn't show any reaction, Sam's throat constricted. Fearing the worst, he shook him harder. Fortunately just before Sam lost it completely Dean stirred, and the younger hunter felt a rush of relief wash over him.

"Sammy?" Dean asked weakly, struggling to focus on the man next to him.

"Yeah, man."

"W-what are you d-doing in here?"

"Doesn't matter. We have to get out," Sam said, already hooking Dean's arm around himself to pull him up.

"No…y-you…dammit Sam, you shouldn't be here!" Dean protested.

Sam was still trying to make sense of the fear he noticed in his brother's eyes when something invisible pushed him against the opposite wall.

"Sam!" Dean jolted and tried to get up, but he also was restrained by an invisible force and couldn't get to his brother. "No! Leave him alone!"

Still pressed against the wall, Sam groaned and blinked furiously in an attempt to clear his vision in the hellhole of fire and smoke. It was then, after his sight resolved itself, that he saw her, untouched by the flames amidst the turmoil. The younger hunter's heart skipped a beat, and the pit of his stomach twisted into a tight knot. Suddenly, he forgot to fight back the tears welling in his eyes, and they rolled freely down his cheeks as he held his mother's gaze for the first time in his life.

"Mom?" he breathed.

Mary gaped at him so intently that Sam would have fidgeted under her stare like a nervous toddler had he been able to move. But then her features softened, turning her look into an affectionate one.

"Sam," she muttered in a tone thick with emotion.

Sam gulped. The amount of sheer love contained in that single word was stunning. Stunning, honest and real. Sam moved his mouth, as if he was trying to speak, but no words escaped from between his lips.

"Don't hurt him!" Dean's voice reached him.

Mary smiled tenderly at her firstborn, who was trying to stand.

"But I won't hurt him. I won't hurt either of you. Just relax. It'll be over in a minute, and finally the three of us…"

"No, let him go!" Dean insisted. Since his attempt to stand up had failed, he was now trying to retrieve the shotgun.

"Dean," Sam called, afraid of the dangerous shine their mother's eyes had taken at his brother's defiant attitude.

"You can't kill me with that, honey," she warned hollowly, taking a step towards Dean.

"Dean, don't…" Sam repeated.

"Nothing will kill me," she continued. "My place is here, and nothing will take me away from my children while they need me."

Dean pursed his trembling lips and swallowed a sob. His eyes searched Sam's almost unconsciously, and the latter tensed, knowing by Dean's expression that his brother was brazing himself for something and that he wouldn't be able to do it without that brief eye contact. Even not knowing what Dean had in mind, Sam's whole life of implicit trust on his brother kicked in, and he allowed Dean to borrow whatever strength he was able to find in his —unfortunately— not so calm stare. For a couple of seconds, the two of them were the only people existing in the world, until Dean took a deep breath and looked back to Mary's spirit with an ashen face.

"But I don't," the older Winchester's voice came out as a whisper that was practically engulfed by the roaring flames.

But it was strong enough to make Mary stop dead in her tracks.

"I miss you, Mom," Dean went on. "I wish you were alive, I…I think about that, about _you_ every single day. And sometimes it…it h-hurts so bad I can't…You're the reason why I'm what I am, why I do what I do. You're my reason for everything."

Sam set his jaw, watching wordlessly as his brother spilled his heart to the edge of breaking.

"I owe that to you," Dean muttered, "I love you so much. I always will. But, I'm fine about it. I know that now. I'm not the child you knew. I'll be fine. So don't you worry, Mom."

And it was then that Sam understood. As soon as comprehension hit him, his heart shattered into pieces.

"I don't _need_ you. Not anymore"

Dean's voice broke on the last sentence, but he kept his eyes fastened on Mary, whose face was pale and contorted in pain.

"Dean?" she begged frailly.

"No. Go now…y-you can go."

Mary took an unsteady step back as the walls around them began to shriek and shake. She glanced at Sam, who looked back at her in tears.

"Sammy?"

He swallowed wobbly, knowing what he had to do and wondering why he hadn't understood it sooner. Probably because it hurt too much.

"Go, Mom," he said, echoing his brother's words and almost choking on them. "Go."

Mary shook her head and stepped back again, looking at both her sons as she cried.

"No…" she said, weeping.

Suddenly her face twisted in surprise, and she looked down at the flames. They were crawling near her feet now and caught her gown on fire.

"NO!" she yelped.

The fire, which had previously been merciful to her, surrounded Mary voraciously and was unabashed by her cries of agony. The invisible forces that pinned Sam against the wall gave way, and the hunter's legs wobbled as, mystified, he watched the image before him. He was unable to tear his eyes from his mother until a groan from his brother made him turn his attention to Dean. The older Winchester's expression was so haunted that Sam ached to go to him. Since all his vows to protect Dean from _this _had so obviously fallen short, he felt like a failure. But at least now there was something he _could_ do.

Because, of all of them, Dean was the only one who shouldn't have to live with the image of a woman he loved burning in front of him. And _that_, Sam could preserve for him.

In two strides, Sam was by his brother and grabbing his shoulders to press him harder in the corner so that he could interpose his body between Dean and the vision of Mary.

"No! What are you doing?" Dean raged and wrestled in a desperate attempt to keep watching. To take it all in. "Get off me! Sam. GET OFF ME!"

Sam held him strongly and ignored his brother's fury, although it was that very fury that was making Dean difficult to restrain. Determined to win the struggle this time no matter what it took, Sam clenched his teeth and endured the shoving. After what seemed an eternity, Mary's yelps diminished, and Dean stopped fighting his brother. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Sam saw that Mary had disappeared, and that the whole building had turned into an inferno.

"We have to go!" Sam yelled over the fire.

Without taking the time to see if Dean was listening to him, Sam gripped his brother's elbow and dragged him to the hall where both of them gasped for oxygen. Just as they were close to reaching the front door, Sam thought he heard a very weak voice behind them.

"Sam?"

The younger hunter turned his head a couple of inches and was able to distinguish his mother's saddened face surrounded by flames and looking at them from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

Sam held his breath as the kitchen's ceiling collapsed, and he could only manage to make it to the garden, taking his brother with him, before a blaze engulfed the rest of the first floor.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The street had been taken over by dozens of lights and sirens from police cars, ambulances and fire brigades. Sam and Dean were sitting on the hood of the Impala, each of them with a blanket over his shoulders. A couple of cars away, Jennifer was being put into an ambulance, and Missouri was with her, holding her hand. The young woman was coming around, and the first thing she asked about was the whereabouts of her children.

"They're fine, they're with my sister," Missouri said, comforting her. "And you're going to be fine too, okay?"

Sam overheard their conversation but was distracted by a police officer that approached them and asked for the umpteenth time what had happened. Sam sighed and sang their story again about how they were passing by, how they'd seen the house on fire, and fearing for the life of its inhabitants how they had gone in and managed to take Jennifer out. Dean remained silent while Sam spoke. He hadn't said a word since they had gotten out and kept staring at the building and the firemen who fought to put out the fire on the still burning second floor.

"I think that's enough, Malcolm," another cop said, stepping in. "I'll take it from here."

Sam recognized the man as Deputy Ted Jackson, the officer who had him called last night after Dean had gotten into his drunken fight. The deputy dismissed Malcolm with a pat on the shoulder and glanced intently at Sam and Dean. Dean didn't pay much attention to the newcomer —Sam wondered if his brother remembered him at all—whereas Sam looked up at him cautiously.

"You've got a funny way of staying out of trouble, you know that?" the cop asked without animosity.

Sam shrugged and looked down sheepishly. A moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder and a firm squeeze.

"You saved a woman's life there," Jackson stated gravely.

The younger hunter swallowed but said nothing.

"Good job, guys. Thank you."

Sam nodded, and Ted smiled. He also smiled at Dean, and Sam realized that his brother was now giving the cop a sideways glance.

"Can we leave now?" Sam asked Jackson.

"Yeah, I'll make sure you get clear on this," he assured. "Go get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

Tilting his head in farewell, the deputy went to meet his fellow officers, who were interrogating the neighbors. Sam sighed and adjusted the blanket over his shoulders when the chilling air of the night caused a shiver to run down his spine. Dean was staring at the house again, and his quietness was starting to worry Sam. The younger Winchester climbed down the hood and paced to clear his mind but always remained hovering next to his brother.

"You should have stayed outside," Dean said, out of the blue.

Surprised to hear his voice, Sam startled and looked at him.

"What?"

"You.Should.Have.Stayed.Outside," Dean hissed.

Sam flinched inwardly at the rage exuded by Dean's voice. And not only by his voice. Sam could sense the anger rushing through Dean's stance and knew it was of the worst kind: the pained, restrained, quiet fury that took over Dean very rarely, only when he had been seriously hurt.

"You know I couldn't do that," Sam replied softly, searching to placate him.

"Of course you could. Shit, Sam!" Dean retorted, clenching his fists.

"Okay, so then I didn't _want_ to do it. I know you'd have done the same thing, man, and I can't believe you're mad at me for it."

Dean's eyes shot daggers at him until Sam was forced to bite his tongue and lower his head for both their sakes. They were worn out, physically and emotionally, and he was aware that the conversation wasn't going anywhere constructive. Trying to collect himself as well, Dean let out a strained breath. When his little brother sat next to him again, he averted his eyes but didn't protest or move away when their shoulders brushed warmly. In fact, Dean closed his eyes and seemed to relax a bit, although he kept his hands clasped tightly over his knees.

After the ambulance left with Jennifer, Missouri approached the Winchester brothers. Sam breathed in when she came closer, and he felt Dean subtly tense by him. If he hadn't been sure Dean would shake him off, he would have wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Are you okay, boys?" she asked gently.

Sam breathed out and allowed her to pat his knee, but Dean flinched away when she tried to do the same to him. Sam looked pointedly at Missouri and shook his head.

"We're alright," he offered conciliatorily. "How is she?"

"The paramedics said her condition isn't serious, but they want to run some tests. They'll probably keep her for observation the next couple of days, but she's going to be fine."

"Glad to hear that."

"Yeah…" Missouri trailed off, at a loss for what to say next. "Sam, Dean…I'm-I'm sorry. I mean it."

Sam nodded again and gave her a hint of an acknowledging smile. Right now, her compassion was of no use to him, for either of them, really. But there was no need to make her feel worse about it.

"You're 'sorry'?" Dean snapped at her.

Apparently his big brother didn't think the same way as Sam did in the matter.

"You were with Sam. You were with him, and you let him in! Do you realize he could have died?"

"Dean," Sam said, intervening. "It wasn't her decision."

Dean huffed.

"I shot her, Missouri!" he exclaimed, glaring at the woman. "I _shot_ my own mother like you told me to do, and it didn't fucking work!"

"I thought it would, dear. I thought it would be enough."

"You _thought_?" Dean grunted. "I trusted you with my life, _with my brother's life_, and you _thought_?"

"Dean, it's enough," Sam said and grabbed his arm.

"You let go of me!"

Dean slapped his brother's hand away, stood angrily, and dropped the blanket around his shoulders to the ground. He stalked off to the driver's side of the Impala and slammed the car door closed after sitting behind the wheel. Sam stood too, hurt evident in his eyes as he ruefully looked at Missouri.

"It's okay, Sam," she said, advancing herself to the hunter's apology.

"He's upset. He had to…"

"I know what he had to do. What you had to do."

Sam chewed the inner part of his cheek uncomfortably.

"So…" he started. "It was always about us, then? We were what kept her here? Her…unfinished business?"

Missouri smiled sadly.

"Yes, I guess you were."

"Then, what happened to Marcia, in a way that was also…"

"No, child, c'mon," Missouri said by way of denial. "You've got a scary way of putting all kinds of things that you're not to blame for on yourself. None of that was your fault."

Sam didn't look too convinced, but he shrugged acceptingly. Missouri figured he was simply eager to get in the car with Dean before the older brother ran out of patience and took off without him.

"She was beautiful, you know?" he said softly.

"Yeah…Yeah, she was," Missouri croaked lovingly. "Listen, you should take it easy for a while, you hear? Take some time for yourselves. You can stay here if you want. My house is your house."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Sam said, rejecting the offer.

And Missouri knew he wasn't only doing it for Dean's sake.

"I understand."

"But thank you, Missouri. Really, you've helped us a lot. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, honey," she reassured him, envisioning a goodbye. "You take care of your brother, okay?"

"I'll try," he said, then locked eyes with her, completing the unspoken farewell before heading to the passenger's door.

"Sam," Missouri said, stopping him.

Maybe it was the Winchester way to leave things unsaid, but it wasn't Missouri Mosley's. And maybe Sam didn't remember what he had done before, how his powers had manifested during his trance to let him open the door of the house. But she had witnessed it, and it had scared her.

The younger Winchester; however, took a deep breath at her call and refused to turn and face her.

"Don't," he pleaded.

_Please, don't._

Missouri sighed. He definitely remembered. But probably, he was telling himself it had been just a one-time thing. That it wouldn't happen again, so there was no need to think about it. If _she_ had been scared, she didn't even want to start imagining how Sam must be feeling. The kid needed guidance, and she could provide it. But not until he was ready to accept it. Not until he could accept what he was.

"If you ever need anything, a_nything_, Sam," she stressed. "You know how to find me."

Appearing a bit more relaxed now, Sam dared to look at her. He nodded.

"I know. Thanks."

"You take care of yourself."

"I will. You too."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The first minutes of their ride back to the motel were awkward at best, rather tense to be precise. Dean refused to talk to him, or to even look at him, and Sam was too tired to try to get through to his brother. Besides, trying to break into Dean's mood in a taut moment like this was an attempt doomed to ruin. And Sam knew Dean wasn't really angry with him, or at least that the part of the matter that involved Dean being mad at him was negligible compared to the other stuff going on inside his brother's mind.

After a while of simply letting Dean be, Sam felt the tension easing itself off, and the edgy silence turned into a weary quietness that was devoid of any bitterness. Welcoming the calm and the fact that, weirdly enough, Dean hadn't turned on the radio to escape his mind, Sam rested his head against the window. He toyed with the idea of closing his eyes since they were still itchy after the smoke bath. But when he was about to let them drift close, the car swerved slightly to the side of the road and slowed down before coming to a complete stop.

Sam glanced at Dean questioningly, but his older brother just kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He hadn't taken his hands from the steering wheel, and, generally speaking, his expression was Dean's usual stoic mask. But then, with a second look, Sam realized Dean's eyes were moist with pooling tears, a condition which was probably making it pretty hard to see the road.

"Mind driving?" Dean asked simply, offering no more explanation and not bothering to make up an excuse.

Sam didn't need one.

"Sure," he whispered.

They traded places, no more words needed, and got to the motel about fifteen minutes later. Dean got out of the car first but waited for Sam to join him at the room door. He still wouldn't meet his eyes, and Sam didn't push it. But as he turned the key in the lock, he made a silence promise to himself.

_I'm going to make it right, Dean. I swear._

Oblivious to his brother's inner dialogue, Dean entered the room as soon as it was open, and Sam followed him close behind. So close that he walked into him when, all of a sudden, Dean stopped just a few steps away from the door.

"Dean!" Sam grouched, "What the…?"

Sam looked over his brother's shoulder to find a man in the middle of the room, giving them his back.

"Who are you?" Dean growled warningly.

The man turned slowly, and both brothers gasped at the same time.

"Dad?"

"What have you done?" John Winchester's voice was as pointed as a knife as he glared at his sons. "What.Have.You.Done?"

**TBC**

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**You thought it was the end? Well, don't worry, the end isn't far away, probably only two chapters (the last being an epilogue) to go! I guess I can say the action is pretty much spent by now, but hey…angst is definitely not! Ready for the aftermath? Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**SORRY. It took VERY long to update...again. I blame work. But they...at least it's a long chapter...ahem...and angsty and all...ahem cough cough**

**I hope you like it, really, it's been a difficult one. Probably because since I first starting writing this story, everything was meant to come down to this point, and now I'm so nervous on your reaction!**

**Thanks to my beta, Em, her brilliant work an her encouraging mails during the process!**

****

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Chapter 13. Grief_

The last time Sam saw his father was over two years ago. That day, a succession of angered accusations was tossed back and forth between John and him for hours. Words, yells and fuming glares flew as daggers, every one sharper than the previous one and all of them accurately aimed at the other's heart in the way that only two people who had known and loved each other all their lives knew how to do. That night Sam left and didn't come back. During a long —too long— while, the relationship between his father and him was nonexistent. No letters or calls were exchanged, and while Sam had tried to convince himself he was okay with it, the memory of the day he left for Palo Alto had been chasing him for months whether he liked to admit it or not.

The younger Winchester had often wondered what he would do once he was finally face to face with his father. He wanted to tell John so many things, like he regretted the way he had left, or how much he had missed him and hated that pride and only pride had kept them apart. He wanted to tell him that he understood him better now, that deep down they were quite alike.

"What.Have.You.Done?"

Months of good intentions were crushed, and all his conciliatory words got stuck in his throat the second he found himself in his father's presence. The senior hunter's harshness made him cringe, and a quick look at John's glowering eyes was enough to take Sam straight back to that time when fighting was a daily occurrence. Swallowing hard and suddenly as scared of his father's wrath as he had been as a child, Sam squirmed. He searched Dean's eyes instinctively, but Dean stood frozen just like he, himself, was. And while Dean was so close to Sam that his back was practically brushing his little brother's shoulder, he was staring fixedly at his father in front of him.

"Tell me you didn't do it. That she's not…" John hissed.

His voice fell quiet. Apparently, he was unable to say what was on his mind. But he didn't have to do it. The accusation hung between them crystal clear, although his confused sons weren't able to answer to it.

Their silence seemed to end John's patience.

"TELL ME YOU DIDN'T KILL HER!" John yelled.

Dean flinched, and his body leaned into Sam's involuntarily. The contact made Sam snap out of the shock that finding his father had provoked in him, and he realized that Dean was shaking ever so slightly under the layer of rigidness that kept his muscles taut. Sam tensed immediately in response. Tempted to wrap an arm around Dean's back, he ended up only ghosting a hand over his waist, all the while unsure of how Dean would react. As much as Sam yearned for it, the older sibling still refused to make eye contact with him. John's presence was too overwhelming for the two of them.

"I'm sorry."

Dean's voice came out hoarse, apologetic. Sam was astonished. Dean wasn't supposed to sound so disheartened. At least Sam hadn't heard that tone of voice in years. Not since Dean had been…what? Eight? Nine? Not since that time, a night almost forgotten in a five-year old's mind, when nobody had known he was eavesdropping behind the door, and he had heard Dean's words to his father.

"_I'm sorry, Dad."_

"_For what?"_

"_For being alive."_

"Dad," Sam warned John once he finally found his voice. The words came out raspy as he stepped forward next to his brother, but they also held a lash of protectiveness. The events in their old house were still too recent, and Sam felt fiercely possessive of his brother, to an extent he didn't believe to be possible.

He vaguely wondered if this was how Dean had felt about him during his whole life.

John glared at him, but ignored Sam after a second and focused entirely on Dean. Both dejected by his father's lack of attention and worried about John's fixation on Dean, Sam wet his lips.

"You're sorry? _Sorry_?" John said, his voice escalating. "How does that change anything? How could you do that?"

"I had to," Dean muttered. Sam noticed he was speaking in singular. "She…She was going to k-"

Before Dean could finish or Sam could react, John grabbed his eldest by the shirt collar and shoved him hard against the wall. Dean groaned, but other than that, his father's attack elicited no response.

"Don't you dare say that," John growled, shaking Dean against the wall.

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed.

The youngest Winchester's heart sank in his chest when Dean didn't defend himself. He didn't even instinctively bring his hands to John's wrists to try and alleviate the choking grasp. Even being the hunter he was, having his father at the other end of the confrontation was enough not only to subjugate his will to put up a fight but also his most automatic instincts to survive the abuse. And that was too much for Sam to watch without intervening.

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam bellowed at John and grabbed his father's arms to force him away from Dean. "Get off him!"

John's fuming gaze flickered from Dean to Sam. He let go of one hand only for the instant that it took him to push Sam away harshly.

"Dad," Dean gasped, finally bringing his hand to his father's arm and sliding a couple of inches away from the wall in an effort to tear his back from it and turn. Or rather, as Sam suspected, trying to move and stand between his father and his little brother. His attempt to shift, however, seemed to infuriate John even more, because when the senior hunter pinned him back against the wall, he did so with unrestrained force.

"You of all people," John hissed dangerously. "You had no right! You owed her your life! I was going to get her back! I was so damn close!"

Dean's head bumped against the hard surface of the wall with a hollow thud, and Sam could swear his own body seemed to reverberate painfully with it.

"I said let him go!" Sam roared.

This time John didn't see him coming, and Sam was able to pry his father's hands from his brother's neck. Before John could force him to back off, Sam pushed him away with more strength that he had planned to use. As his father stumbled backwards, Sam felt himself staggering.

"You bastard!" Sam's accusing yell broke in the end, his voice shaking as badly as his body. "_You_ have no right to talk. Where the hell were _you_? We've been looking for you for months! Dean called you when we were coming here! _Where.were.you_?"

How could John blame them? How, when all he had done for the last half-year was run from them? Sam's young heart was in flames, adrenaline rushed over his body in blazes of fire, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. John grunted something unintelligible as he got back to his feet. Sam felt the bile rising and was a heartbeat from launching himself at John, when he felt Dean's hand holding him by the elbow.

"Sam, don't," his older brother breathed.

Sam turned around to face Dean, and his upset hazel-brown eyes locked with the warning hazel-green of his brother's. Sam averted his gaze first, hurt that even now Dean was going to take his father's side. All he was trying to do was defend him. But then, Dean had always hated whenever Sam stepped between his father and him. He seemed to think Sam didn't do it to defend him ─let alone the fact that for his brother, "Dean" and "being defended" were two irreconcilable concepts─, but only to have an excuse to jump at his father's throat.

As if he had ever needed any.

While many times, Sam hated to admit Dean had been right about the real reasons he intervened between his brother and father, this time was different. This time Dean wasn't right, because for once it wasn't about Sam and John getting carried away by the zillionth round of their endless record of arguments. It was really about his brother, and if he wasn't willing to stand up to John for himself, Sam, without a second thought would be the one fighting for him.

"No!" Sam protested and shrugged Dean off. "For once he's gonna listen to _us_!"

Yeah, Sam would be the one fighting. Whether Dean liked it or not.

"_We_…" Sam started, stressing the plural form. He wasn't oblivious to how Dean's glare had turned from warning to pleading in the split second during which their eyes were still fixed on each other before Sam turned around to look daggers at their father. However, he chose to ignore it. "_We_ did what _we_ had to do to save those people's lives! _We_ did what _you_ taught us to do! You know that! _We_ did what _you_ should have done two years ago!"

"SAM!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam jerked when Dean's arm hooked around his, and he stopped his heated tirade. By then he was panting as hard as if he had run a marathon. John's eyes had taken on a dangerous glint, and his face had gone livid with anger. Sam swallowed heavily and clenched and unclenched his fists, but Dean, who was still holding him, tightened the grip on his arm and pulled Sam closer. Sam didn't fight him; actually, he was feeling light-headed after his outburst, and he leaned into his brother a couple of inches more until his back was almost resting on Dean's chest.

"You don't know what you're talking about," John snarled.

Sam scowled at his father. Damn the man, who always had to have the last word. Straightening up, he disentangled himself from his brother and made a step towards John.

"I'm talking about Marcia Johnson," Sam retorted unflinchingly.

"I'm talking about your mother!"

"Mom is dead, Dad! And I don't care what you thought you could do about it, she wasn't coming ba-…"

Sam knew he should have seen it coming. After all, he was supposed to be pretty smart. On top of that, he had already seen —and suffered— the effect those same words had had on Dean back in Jericho. Therefore, he should have been clever enough to foresee what John's reaction would be.

Maybe he did, just a second too late, but John's fist was already flying to his face.

"Dad!" Dean shouted.

Sam heard Dean's voice somewhere next to him, but the blow was so brutal that it made his ears buzz. He landed on his back stunned and half on the floor, half slumped against the wall. Immediately, he felt his eyes filling up with tears of pain and frustration.

His father had never hit him before.

Amidst the blur his sight had turned into, Sam saw John approaching, and for the first time in his life Sam was genuinely afraid of him. However, he was unable to get up, because along with that punch, the emotions of the night had been released, and now pain, exhaustion and raw sadness were finally taking its toll on the young hunter. He just stared, waiting for John to finish him off. But the next thing he knew was that Dean was standing between them and had thrown a punch at John. The senior Winchester fell to the floor.

"_Dean…" _Sam wanted to cry out for his brother, but the too familiar call, as automatic and natural for him as breathing, got caught in his throat. He couldn't believe what was happening.

Dean had never hit John before.

As Sam struggled to stand up, Dean kept his strategic position between John and his little brother. Still in shock, Sam used Dean's shoulder for support to straighten up. Under his hand, he could feel Dean trembling, worse this time. And John…

John was crying.

Speaking of first times.

"Dad," Sam stammered.

His previous anger faded at the sight of John's tears. To see his father, the strong, hardened warrior, the cold, undaunted hunter shedding tears was wrong. The whole situation was completely wrong, like a terrible nightmare. And Sam just wanted to wake up.

_Please, let me wake up._

John wiped the tears out of his eyes quickly with the back of his hand and scrambled to his feet with a huff. Neither of the brothers advanced to lend him a hand but remained glued to each other in their corner where they shook giddily at the insurmountable gap that had opened between their father and them. Back to his feet, John appraised his sons with a hurt look.

"You shouldn't be here."

Sam cringed at the unveiled accusation: _You walked away_.

"Neither of you. This is not your place," John continued.

Both siblings understood John wasn't referring only to Lawrence and blinked in disbelief. Was John really saying what they thought he was saying?

Was he…dismissing them from the hunt?

"Stop looking for me. I don't want your help. We don't belong together. Not since Mary was taken."

Sam heard Dean swallow hard.

"C'mon, Dad…You don't mean that," Dean tried with a shaky smile.

Sam remained right by his side, but he found himself at a loss for words. John looked at them one last time.

"I should have seen it before," he sentenced.

His lips quivered, as if he was about to say something else. However, he remained quiet and after a couple of excruciatingly long seconds, he headed to the entrance, exited the room and slammed the door closed.

The reverberation of the slam clung onto the air and become the only sound in the room —the only sound in the whole fucking universe— as Sam and Dean stood paralyzed in their places, holding their breaths. Slowly, very slowly, Dean's knees started to give way, and before Sam realized it his brother was out of his grasp and slumped wretchedly on one of the beds with his eyes wide and fixed on the door, his expression shattered.

"Dean," Sam muttered.

Dean didn't respond. Overwhelmed with the sudden urge to make sure that Dean was still mentally in the room and not spinning out of control down a road where he couldn't follow him, Sam had to work hard to resist the temptation to shake him.

"Dean?" he called with a note of desperation.

Dean dragged his gaze from the door to Sam, but didn't look at him in the eye. The younger Winchester noticed that Dean was clenching the hand he had used to punch his father tightly on his knee, and that his knuckles were scratched and starting to become dyed in crimson red. Sam swallowed and reached to take his brother's hand, but Dean's breath hitched, and he slapped Sam's hand away with his raw one. The movement obviously hurt him, because he winced, raised his hand shakily to his eye-level, and stared dazedly at the blood that tainted his fingers. He looked about to pass out, and his Adam's apple wobbled up and down as if he was a second from hurling or bursting into tears.

"Oh, God," Dean whispered.

Sam pursed his lips to keep them from trembling and crouched in front of his brother so that he could search his gaze.

"Sammy…" Dean mumbled brokenly when their eyes finally met.

In that moment, the sound of a truck reached them from the parking lot outside the room, and Dean's attention darted to the window. Sam gasped inwardly at the sheer devastation that took over his brother the second he realized his father was indeed leaving, and that he intended to stay gone for good.

_No…No. No. No._

Their father couldn't leave like this. Not after what had felt like losing their mother all over again. It would destroy Dean. It would be the end for them all.

_I won't let that happen, Dean. Hold on._

Setting his jaw, Sam stood up so fast that his knees cracked as he bolted towards the door and went out after his father.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Dad!"

Sam crossed the parking lot as fast as his legs allowed him. John's was already manoeuvering the truck's way towards the exit. Despite his son's call, he didn't stop.

"Dad, wait!" Sam tried again.

The young man couldn't quite see his father's face from his position and sped up, childishly thinking that if he got to make eye contact with John and the latter realized how badly Sam needed him not to go, he would simply pull over and step out of the car.

_Yeah, and wait to give me a hug._

But if anything, John accelerated. Sam felt bile rising through his throat then turn into a bitter ball of lead that sank into his stomach and bounced painfully against his guts. Adrenaline supplied what oxygen couldn't, and Sam sprinted with all he had left until he was able to block John's way by suddenly jumping in front of the car. A part of his mind registered that the odds were that John —or anyone else, for that matter— wouldn't be able to stop the truck before running over him. Another part of his mind tingled with the thought of how ugly the scene was about to become.

None of those sensations got him moving, though. Not even enough to try to move. He just stood, literally caught in the headlights, unable to react. His eyes locked with John's only for a second before Sam closed his eyelids and clenched his fist awaiting the blow. However, it never came. The only thing he sensed was a terrible screech of brakes. And then nothing.

"Sam!"

Until his father's distressed voice reached him.

"For Christ's sake! Are you okay?"

When Sam dared to open his eyes, he saw the truck bumper barely a couple of inches away from his knees. His stomach flip-flopped, and the sight of how close it had been made his knees buckle. He would have fallen over the hood, if John, who had gotten out of the car and had walked hastily up to his son, hadn't grabbed him by the arm.

"Sam!" the senior hunter shook his son, concern tainting his voice. "Answer me. Are you alright?"

Sam let out a shaky breath and leaned on the hood with one hand while he grasped John's jacket with the other, both to keep himself steady against John's nervous shoving and to make sure that his father remained in place, at least until he was able to get himself together and regain his voice.

"SAM!"

Sam swallowed a couple of times and met his father's frantic gaze ruefully. All anger had vanished from John's eyes now to be replaced with worry and a hint of tears. Still unused to finding such strong emotion on his father's face, the younger Winchester felt all his self-control slip away once more, and he held onto John with both hands. He was desperate and too over the edge to care about hiding it anymore.

"Dad…" he croaked.

John's concern increased a few notches as he mistook the reason for Sam's shaky clinginess.

"Son, tell me _where_ you're hurt."

"Dad," Sam repeated, swallowing again to bring some moisture to his throat. "Dad, don't go."

"Sam, what the…"

"Please."

"Goddammit, Sam!" John roared.

Just as it was with his youngest, the line between concern and rage was particularly thin in John Winchester, and as soon as he came to realize Sam wasn't physically injured, relief favoured the passage from the former to the latter at an incredible speed.

"Are you nuts?! What were you thinking jumping in front of the car like that! I could have killed you!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Sam repeated, tugging at John's jacket. "You _can't_ go."

John huffed and stepped back, liberating himself from Sam's pull.

"Jesus, Sammy," he said, sighing as he ran both hands through his hair and then scrubbed his face. The whole time he averted his son's eyes.

"Dad, listen to me," Sam begged. "It wasn't Dean's fault, okay? He never wanted any of this to happen. _I _dragged him here. _I_ made him go into the house. _I_…"

"Sam, stop it."

"No, you don't understand! It was _my_ fault! He didn't want to vanquish her! Jennifer and her kids were already safe. And he was ready to let himself die!"

_I fucking saw him letting himself die._

John lifted his gaze, his eyes full of pain as he fixed them on Sam.

"But, I came back inside…and Mom…she was going to…" Sam said but then stopped himself. "Dean only did it to save _me_, Dad. If you want to blame someone blame me, but please…don't you go like this."

John remained silent for some long seconds, just staring blankly at his son. However, the emotion building inside him was visible and Sam bit his lip, fearing the worst. The most unsettling thing was yet to come. All of a sudden, without further notice, John reached out and pulled Sam into an unexpected hug.

"Jesus, Sammy," John muttered once more, holding his youngest son tight against him.

Unprepared in any possible way for this father's embrace, Sam stiffened but at the same time felt the urge to melt into his dad's arms and just let go into the warmness and safeness he had stopped searching for in John too long ago. He loved his father dearly, always had. If only he could trust him too. If he could count on him, just this once…

"It's you who doesn't understand," John whispered thickly. "I loved her."

Sam choked back a sob and shook his head against his father's shoulder. Unconsciously, he grabbed John tighter as if to prevent him from leaving.

"I understand," he protested.

_I understand it too well._

"I can't be around you boys, not right now. We would just hurt each other more," John continued, without trying to detach himself from Sam. "I wouldn't be able to stand it. Every time I'd look into your eyes I'd see her, I'd see what…"

"Dad, no…"

"I know it's not fair…I-I know that. And I know you just did what I couldn't do. What _had_ to be done. But still…"

"Please, don't," Sam croaked, pulling his father closer, terrified when he realized that John was starting to break the hug. "Dean needs you. _We_ need you."

_Why? Why isn't that enough for you?_

"Let me go, Sam," John said calmly.

"Dad, you can't go now, after all this time we've spent looking for you! We've been apart for too long, dammit!" the young hunter hissed.

John disentangled himself from Sam and looked him straight in the eye.

"I told you to stop looking for me. That's an order."

"An order my ass!"

"Sam!" John's voice turned into a growl, and his eyes sparkled.

Sam set his jaw and swallowed hard against a bitter gulp of disappointment. It was really happening. John blamed them for Mary's death. He was going to walk away, and Sam was helpless to stop him. Nothing he could say, nothing he could do was going to make John change his mind.

"At least go talk to him," Sam said, his voice suddenly colder. "Tell him that you forgive him. I don't care if you lie, but he needs to hear that."

"I can't, Sam."

"Dad."

"Dean will get over it," John affirmed with a tense shrug. "So will you."

_But you won't, is that what you mean?_

"Bye, Sammy."

Sam clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw started to hurt, but he was helpless to act in any other way. If he loosened his muscles, even just a little, he would break down, right there. He refused to say good-bye to John, because by doing so he could at least pretend that he was still fighting his father's leaving. Instead, Sam glued his eyes to the soil like a stubborn child, while his trained ear registered the soft sigh his father gave before he made his way back into the car, opened the door with a crack and turned the engine on.

Before he could realize it, Sam was alone in the empty parking lot, and his father was driving away. When he finally looked up, the truck was too far for him to make out in the darkness. Only the headlights where visible, and even they quickly got smaller and smaller until they disappeared in the distance.

Sam gulped and took a deep breath that tasted too much of defeat. For a while, he stayed there, staring numbly at the road where John had last disappeared until a gust of wind made him shiver. The breeze suddenly reminded him that he was standing outside his motel room in the middle of the night, waiting for something that would never come.

"Bye, Dad."

Sam turned back and headed up to the room. At first, he walked slowly, his movements dazed. But as he approached the door, he unconsciously quickened his pace. He opened the door of the room to find Dean exactly as he had left him, sitting on the edge of his bed with a haunted expression. As soon as Sam entered, Dean raised his eyes and the brothers exchanged a brief look. Sam's throat constricted with the knowledge of what Dean was silently asking, and he averted his eyes regretfully. He didn't need to say a word since the answer to Dean's question was written all over his face and also in the empty space at his back when he had come back into the room alone.

"I'm sorry," Sam mustered.

Even as he said it, Sam cringed at how useless his words were. He had apologized so many times over the last couple of days that it sounded hollow even to his own ears. It was just that he didn't know what else he could say. Dean's face had turned into an inscrutable mask. A slight shake of his head —clearly intended to make Sam shut up— was the only evidence that Dean had heard his words. Sam wet his lips and closed the door behind him. After the soft click of the door, a strained silence hung heavily over their heads, and Sam chewed his inner cheek nervously.

"Hey," Sam said, trying to get Dean's attention.

When Dean didn't respond, Sam fidgeted, made a hesitant step forwards and started to reach out for him. Dean just jerked away brusquely and stood.

"Man…C'mon," Sam said, swallowing back bitter grief.

In two strides, Dean was facing the wall, and giving his back to Sam. The younger brother inhaled and exhaled, forcing some air to get past the lump in his throat and into his lungs. Suddenly, Dean threw a punch at the wall and Sam jumped. The thin walls of the motel room creaked, and the blow reverberated in the air. Sam bit his lip so hard that he tasted iron in his mouth. The weight on his chest increased, and his heart pounded impossibly hard against his ribcage.

"Dean?" Sam muttered.

"Go, Sam," Dean ordered, without looking at his brother.

"What?"

"Go," the older hunter repeated.

Sam felt a shiver running across his spine. Dean's voice was shaking dangerously, although what the danger was exactly, Sam wasn't sure. The tremble could either be indicative of Dean being a heartbeat away from breaking down, or that Sam was about to end up with a broken face if he insisted on pushing. Both options were scary as hell, especially the first one.

"No," Sam heard himself saying.

His eyes glistening menacingly, Dean tilted his head and glared at him hard. His aggressive stance was tempered by the pallor of his skin, though, and the way his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. Sam gathered all his courage and made another step towards him.

"Listen, Dean, I…"

His movement was halted abruptly when Dean turned around and swept away the contents of the small table that was next to him. The shattering noise of the vase and the couple of glasses that got acquainted with the floor was overshadowed by Dean's roar.

"I said go away, Sam!"

"No," Sam said, abjectly refusing. His voice sounded small compared to his brother's outburst and the echo of the objects crashing.

A groan rose from deep inside Dean's throat, and the older hunter kicked the table so hard that it landed a couple of inches from Sam.

"Dean!"

"LEAVE, SAM! LEAVE.ME.ALONE!" Dean yelled.

When a stubborn Sam stayed in place, Dean seemed to lose it and charged against the room with unleashed rage. Fighting the tears that burned his eyes, Sam steeled himself against his brother's wrath, and flinched inside every time a lamp flew against a wall or a chair leg gave way after being crashed against the floor. Other than the first table, none of the furniture came anywhere near him again, and not for a single second did Sam fear for his safety. But Dean's pain did reach him anyway, solid and sharp as a knife, rolling out of his big brother in waves and hanging onto the air just as thick and suffocating as the smoke Sam had pulled him from just a while ago.

"DAMMIT," Dean cried over and over. "DAMMIT, DAMMIT DAMMIT!"

His expression was really scary, but the little brother in Sam could also see what lay underneath. Shielded behind his heated explosion, Dean was terrified and clutching at an impulsive attack on the furniture to keep it together, all the while pleading in a desperate and raw way for Sam not to stay to witness his inexorable fall.

His fear made Sam's determination waver. Dean didn't plead, ever. He didn't do desperate either. It was obvious that trashing the room wasn't a good enough outlet, and Sam thought that maybe his insistence on staying was only making it all even harder for Dean because it obliged him to try keeping his crumbling walls up. But Sam _couldn't_ leave. Not now, when he belonged with his brother more than ever. Dean was the only person who had really been there for him all his life, and nothing in the world was going to make Sam bail on him in this moment.

John has already given them too much of that treatment.

And so Sam did the only thing he could do. He stood in the middle of the room and waited for Dean to either calm down or break down. Maybe even to storm into the safe bubble he had unconsciously erected around his little brother to protect him from the flying furniture, and once inside beat the crap out of him for being an ass. Either way, Sam was ready to take it. He yearned to take it.

_Please Dean, let me take it._

A hard knocking on the door interrupted Sam's thoughts, and the younger hunter turned around quickly towards the entrance, thanking all possible gods that he had left it closed.

"Hey!" the nervous voice of Michael Tyler, the motel owner, came from the other side. "Are you okay? What's going on in there?!"

Sam cursed under his breath and launched himself against the door, grabbing the knob just as it started to turn open. Damn master keys!

"We're fine!" Sam yelled back, his voice incredibly firm considering the way his hands were trembling. "It's okay, everything's fine!"

"Sir?" Michael pushed, noticing that Sam was keeping the door closed from the inside.

"Sorry about the noise, we'll turn down the volume of the TV…"

"Sir, are you sure you're alright? We heard yelling and…"

"I said we're just fine!" Sam said, pounding back at the door before he could stop himself. _Dammit_, he immediately thought, clenching his jaw hard. Apparently all his years of trained self-control were spiraling down along with Dean's. It wouldn't be the best idea to have good old Mike calling the police now, would it? "Listen, it's alright, really. Sorry about the noise. I know it's late, it won't happen again."

Behind the door, the manager took a reflective pause before grumbling.

"Alright. But I warn you, if I get any other complaints about you, I'll be calling the cops."

The pressure of the knob eased as Michael let go of it and went away. Sam let out a deep sigh of relief, rested his forehead against the wooden surface, and closed his eyes to regain some sense of balance. He felt as if he was high, and something about the tingling on his arms told him that if the motel manager had kept on attempting to break into the room in that very moment, he would have killed the man the second he dared to lay his judgmental eyes on Dean.

_Dean._

When the dizziness subsided Sam realized the trashing had stopped at his back and, with his stomach in knots, he turned around slowly. Dean had sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, the one further away from the door and his brother right now, and once again was giving Sam his back. His brother's shoulders were slumped down, his elbows on his knees and his face buried on them. Sam swallowed and described a cautious circle to get closer to him, until he was towering over Dean's slouched form.

"Please," Dean muttered without looking up. "Sammy, _go._"

Sam blinked away the fresh tears pooling in his eyes. It was his turn to be strong. Dean needed him to be strong.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam's voice came out raspy, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "But I'm not going anywhere."

Dean gave a dejected snort and clasped the sides of his head, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes so strongly that Sam winced. He didn't dare touch him though, since the next thing Dean did was curl into a tight ball with his face buried on his knees and his arms wrapped over his head. Dean's body language showed an obvious attempt to shut the world out, to bolt and bar it away. Sam included.

Aching for some way to offer comfort, the younger brother crouched awkwardly in front of Dean to be at eye level with him, but other than that, he remained silent and at a complete loss. Dean's shoulders had started rocking very slightly, and the older hunter's hands had turned into fists. Sam knew that Dean was still fighting; fighting tooth and nail to swallow back the sobs that caught in his throat and made his whole body tremble like a leaf in the wind. He was trying to keep it together by any means, and the struggle was painful to watch. Because on the one hand, Sam wished Dean could simply open up, at least this once. But on the other hand, he couldn't help hoping that his hero would pull through it, because… that was what Dean always did.

If he had to be honest with himself, Sam wasn't sure anymore about what would be best for his brother. Nobody knew better than Sam how hurtful keeping things bottled inside was and how much it helped letting them out. But he also knew his brother may not be able to take what he would certainly see as a defeat. Torn by the situation, Sam cursed his own helplessness to make it right for Dean as he had so vehemently promised to himself. Dean deserved better. Dean should have had their father by his side; he needed John…

"S-Sam."

Dean's voice came out as a whisper, so low that Sam would have missed if he wasn't so close. There was a shade of fear held in his call that made Sam's insides churn, but also spurred him to snap out of his staring spell.

"Shhh," Sam hushed, as he grabbed Dean's biceps and gave them a light squeeze. "I know."

And he did, weirdly enough. When he leaned over and wrapped his arms around Dean's back, he understood. It was clear, in the way Dean's body shuddered quietly, how his breath hitched after every sob he had tried not to release, how he held it after every little failure in an anxious attempt to prevent the next sob from coming.

Sam had never been so close to his brother, and yet, at the same time he felt so far away from him. Sam had never thought that after all his pricking and pushing for Dean to just allow himself to show weakness, that he would be so willing to help his older brother keep the walls up, for both their sakes. But the decision had been made for the younger brother as soon as his name shakily left Dean's lips.

Dean was losing the battle, right in front of him and was so desperate to hold it together at any cost that he was even ready to ask for Sam's help. He wasn't giving in yet, nor letting Sam really in. The most the younger brother could do was to wait outside and do his best to hold together the cracking armour Dean had withdrawn into. And that's what he did; he held onto his brother, whispered encouraging sounds, squeezed his broad shoulders when he felt another sob was coming, and wished that their combined strengths were enough to suffocate them.

"C'mon, big brother," Sam chanted softly. "C'mon…"

Dean was making a hell of an effort, that much Sam knew. It was crystal clear in the way the unspoken counting Sam was able to retrieve from his brother's mind determined Dean's rhythm of clenching and unclenching his fists. But the drill didn't work either, judging by the marks that Dean's nails left in his palms after every teary exhalation. The older brother's whole body shuddered after a particularly shallow intake, and he was unable to keep to himself the little cry of pain that escaped his lips when his lungs failed to get air.

"Sammy…" Dean rasped.

Sam pursed his lips and found that he was barely keeping his own tears at bay. Dean was hurting in a way Sam had never witnessed and trying to overcome the suffering was hurting him even more. His brother was falling apart far faster than he was able to pull himself together. It was a cadence that was doomed to ruin.

"Dean, stop it," Sam whispered in the smallest of voices.

Even as he said it, he couldn't believe his own ears. Asking Dean to stop fighting was unnatural, even if it was for his own sake. Sam sensed Dean tensing in his arms, his incredulity and what he was sure was a wave of disappointment rolling out of him like a punch. But he couldn't stand his brother's pain anymore. Bracing himself against those emotions, Sam shifted so that he could cup his brother's neck gently with one hand and speak softly in his ear.

"You're hurting yourself more. Please, stop."

Still holding his breath, Dean shook his head weakly as one of his hands found Sam's arm and fisted his shirt blindly. He gave the fabric a pleading tug, as is saying "you cannot possibly be asking that from me, now can you?" and Sam would have laughed at that if the situation wasn't so absolutely fucked up, or if he hadn't been sure the chuckle wouldn't break into a sob. Dean was hanging by the edge of a cliff, holding onto Sam as a lifeline and…and here was Sam, proving himself unable to pull Dean up and instead asking him to…_jump_.

It wasn't about pride. It wasn't about courage or even about control anymore. For a person like Dean it was about the pure and simple fear of flying. Sam kicked himself for not realizing before that his brother wasn't disappointed, nor was he mad at him. When asked to let go, Dean didn't even know how to do it. When asked to let go, Dean was downright scared.

"It'll be okay," Sam's voice turned thick, hushed next to his brother's ear. He had to swallow a couple of times to hold back his own inner turmoil.

"_You know what hurts the most? That you insist on trusting anyone but me!"_

"_Why not _me, Dean, _why not _me_?"_

"You…huh…you gotta trust me now, okay?"

"_I hate when you do that."_

"_Do what?"_

"_Shut me out."_

"I'm here."

_We're in this together_.

"It'll get better."

_I'll catch you, Dean._

"I promise," Sam assured him, tightening his grasp on his brother, as if to prove his point.

Dean tensed in Sam's hold even more, and Sam stopped breathing. Literally. Until he felt his brother's shuddering, and then heard a sob escape Dean's throat. A heartbreaking, painfully real sob that was unrestrained and raw. Sam's chest tightened in an automatic response, but he struggled to keep some similarity of coolness. At least until a second sob from his brother tore him to the core, and Dean moved. Slowly, Dean uncurled, unburied his face from his knees, and leaned into Sam's chest.

_Oh, God._

Sam felt Dean's arms around his back as Dean pressed himself against him, and his heart rate spiked. Knowing that Dean would search the darkest, safest place to break, Sam tilted his head and allowed Dean's to rest against the crook of his neck. Another sob shook the older hunter as soon as he buried his face into his brother's warmth. He slipped over the edge of the bed and slumped down to the floor in Sam's arms. Another sob came, and then another one. Both brothers then ended up pulling each other closer until they were curled in a tight ball again. Only this time, Sam wasn't hovering over the surface but was accepted fully inside.

"Okay," Sam muttered, no longer caring that he was crying openly along with his brother. "Okay," he repeated as he gently rocked Dean's body.

For the first time since he was a child, Dean cried. Actually, it was the first time that Sam could remember Dean _ever_ crying. He hadn't expected to feel so thrown out of balance by Dean's acceptance, but then, he had never experienced such an overwhelming intimacy with anybody, not even with Jess. And he knew for sure that Dean had never let anybody get this close to him either. Sam felt giddy, like he was drunk; intoxicated by Dean's absolute abandonment and trust.

"It's okay. I got you now."

Time stopped mattering; the world ceased to exist outside of them. For a while, the only thing important in the universe was that they were finally grieving, and that they were finally holding.

And that they were finally safe.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sunrise found them sitting on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, with their backs against the bed. They had been silent for a while now, tears long spent. Sam's arm was still loosely around his brother's waist and rubbing his side gently, almost absently with his thumb. And while Dean wasn't trying to stop the coddling, he wasn't looking at Sam either. Sam knew Dean felt embarrassed, and that a part of him wanted Sam to let go of him, which in a way was good, since it meant that his brother was slowly getting a grip on himself. But he also knew that Dean wasn't ready to bounce back just yet.

That was okay, Sam decided, slipping his eyes closed and resting his head back on the bed. Sam knew his brother well enough by now to know that his awkwardness at being comforted was nothing personal, but a part of who he was. And that was the reason why it meant so much that Dean had allowed himself to cry on his brother's shoulder, if only for a while. For the time being, Sam was willing to give Dean anything he needed, whether it was staying close or backing off.

He couldn't help musing, though about how weird it was that they had so easily gotten stuck back in their Winchester dynamics. Sam loved Dean more than anything; he wouldn't tell him, but wouldn't deny it to himself either. And he knew Dean felt more or less the same way about him. Their past history had proven that they didn't do very well when they were apart, yet when they were together they kept their distances, hiding their affection behind their brotherly banter and their hunters' tough guy masks. God, they were really screwed up, Sam thought with a soft chuckle, if their middle ground consisted of bickering as the only possible way to convey love.

Dean looked up at the sound of his brother's short laugh and fixed Sam with a curious gaze.

"What?"

His voice still sounded a little husky. Sam glanced in his direction, took in his brother's reddened eyes and pallid features, but also the small, tentative smile that tugged up the corner of his lips. Sam smiled back and shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied with a sigh.

He started to remove his arm from Dean's waist. The latter stiffened almost imperceptibly; his eyes flickered over Sam's with a hint of panic, even as he moved forwards a little to make it easier for his brother to take his arm away. Sam smiled at him reassuringly and as soon as he recovered his upper limb, he pulled his knees to his chest and sat with his arms crossed over them, using his right hand to nudge at Dean's left arm. After tugging at his sleeve, Sam left his hand brushing his brother's elbow, and by doing so he was able to keep the physical contact between them in a casual way.

"I was just thinking about what a pair of freaks we are," the younger hunter said matter-of-factly.

Dean's lips pulled up again as his body visibly relaxed.

"Yeah."

Dean took a deep breath and leaned his head back, mimicking Sam's position from a minute earlier.

"You should have gone with Dad," the older man said out of the blue.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Dean.

"What?" he asked, forcing a nervous smile. "Why? You tired of me already?"

Dean snorted shallowly.

"I mean it, Sam. You've spent months looking for him. I know how bad you wanted to find the man and join him…especially after what that son of a bitch did to Jess."

"Dean," Sam interrupted with a soft firm voice. "We both wanted to find him, alright? And I'm glad he's fine, really. I still want to find what killed Jess too. But there'll be time for that."

"I still think you should have gone with him. If anything else, you'd have had a better chance."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because…Sam, look at me," Dean said, averting his eyes, "I-I'm a mess."

Sam frowned.

"Hey," the younger man said, squeezing his brother's arm with the hand that rested over his elbow. "Give yourself a break here. The whole thing's been pretty messy, from beginning to end."

Dean laughed mirthlessly at that.

"No shit, man," he breathed.

Sam smiled weakly at Dean's remark and then fixed his eyes on the wall in front of him.

"You did the right thing, Dean," Sam said.

Even without looking at his brother, he felt Dean's wary eyes on him.

"I mean, with Mom and all."

"Sam…"

"No, listen to me. You need to know it. Dad's not right, okay? You know why?"

The pause that followed put Sam's nerves on edge, and he was a second from starting to fidget.

"Why, Sam?" Dean finally asked.

"Because," Sam said, sighing and turning to face Dean. "All those times when we were kids, when we asked about Mom…and Dad said she was in Heaven…well, it was a lie."

It was Dean's turn to frown, but Sam knew he was listening.

"She wasn't in Heaven, Dean. She was in the house. _Trapped_. She was scared, and alone, and _suffering_ in there," Sam's voice wavered. Dean was clenching his jaw so hard that it was a miracle he didn't pull anything, "Until…until you saved her. You set her free."

Dean's gaze faltered, and his chin trembled slightly.

"Sammy."

"It's true, Dean. That's what happened in there. That's what you did. You set her free. And I know that if there's a Heaven, that's where she is _now_, watching us. Thanks to _you._"

More moved than he was willing to admit, Dean swallowed and looked away. Sam took the chance to wipe at his eyes and steady his breath and his voice.

"And sooner or later," he concluded. "Dad would have realized that too. I'm sure he already knows it on some level, but he's just hurting too much to accept it. You know him. Stubborn as hell."

Dean smiled sadly and just nodded, as if he didn't trust his voice to speak.

"And what if I lied?" the older hunter muttered shakily after a while.

"Lied when?" Sam asked.

"I told her I didn't need her," Dean explained. "What if that was a lie, Sammy? She's gone…again, and I don't…I can't take it back."

Again, Sam's hand on his harm took Dean's nervous ramble to a halt.

"She's our mother, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "If you had been lying, she would have known," he offered.

Simple as they were, Sam's words seemed to appease Dean.

"You think?"

"I'm sure of it."

"And…You really believe she's watching us?"

Sam smiled.

"Yeah, I believe so. You know what that means, right?"

Dean just looked at him.

"That you're gonna have to behave from now on, man. And that includes no more room trashing."

Dean let out a heartfelt chuckle and looked around with tired eyes.

"Yeah, I guess," he said lowly.

Actually, not only his eyes, but his whole body spoke volumes of a deep to the bones exhaustion on all levels. Sam felt drained too and was tempted to just rest his head on Dean's shoulder and sleep…for months. However, he was prevented from doing so when Dean shifted, then scrambled to his feet after brushing Sam's hand over his arm for a second. Sam released his hold as he had been tacitly requested to do, been _thanked_ for doing, and then Dean straightened. Sam's side grew cold after losing his brother's proximity, but he said nothing, watching intently Dean's movements instead.

His brother stood stiffly —that much was understandable, having spent the last few hours sitting crumbled on the floor— tossed a look around the room, and scrubbed his face with a grunt. He made a couple of hesitant steps, one forwards and one to the side, as if he simply wasn't sure which way to turn. After a beat, he crouched and picked up the discarded lamp still on the floor, and next proceeded to tidy up the room with calm, pensive motions.

"You don't have to do that now," Sam intervened, as he stood up himself, letting out nothing but a little grimace at the cramped feeling in his legs. Dean seemed dead on his feet; he should be in bed and not taking care of the disorder. Sam hadn't meant to make him feel bad or anything bringing up Mary's watch over them…

Dean shook his head, with his back to his brother.

"I don't know what else to do," he said with a hint of sheepishness.

Sam licked his lips and took a deep breath.

"What do you _want_ to do?"

Somehow bewildered by the question, Dean turned to look into his brother's eyes. Sam understood Dean's confusion. Dean had been asked a simple question, but it wasn't one that he was often seriously asked. Actually the question barely ever was asked, because in John's Winchester's world nothing was about what they wanted, but what they should or shouldn't do to get the badass of the week. Sam had become so frustrated by this particular condition that consistently hung over their lives, that it had become the underlying reason for most of the arguments that John and he had had over the years. Eventually it had driven him to leave home.

But Dean had accepted it. He knew that John always tried to do the right thing, and he sure _wanted_ to do the right thing if that helped to get rid of evil in the world. Now, he was so adapted to the off-kilter way of life that thinking about wanting something outside of the hunt, or the procedures of the hunt, made him feel weak, selfish, off-center. Sam was about the only person who kept asking that question of him, probably because he was the only one that cared about the answer. Dean still couldn't get used to it.

"I want to go, Sammy," Dean said, finding that, despite himself and prompted by his brother's warm eyes he was answering the question. "Hell, I want out of this fucking town."

Sam nodded.

"Okay," the younger Winchester said with a shrug. He examined the room too, scanning the wreck and fishing in his pocket. "Leave it like that," he added, as he tossed a couple of twenties on the bedside table, to pay for the damage. "Get your stuff," he said, smiling mildly. "We're out of here."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

**Wow...If you kept reading until the end, I have to thank you just for that fact! I really hope you liked it, I had a hard time writing it...but I also enjoyed it madly!!! I know you know ;-) Any comments?**

**Only the epilogue to go! I promise it won't take another month. Lots of love!!**


	14. Epilogue

**Here we go...the end. I can't believe this is really done, nor I can thank you all enough for your support. I hope you enjoy the last installment.**

**Em, you're the best!**

****

**LAWRENCE REVISITED**

_Epilogue_

Leaning against the passenger door of his car, hands loosely inside his pockets, Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the mild warmth of the afternoon sun on his face. He breathed in and out a couple of times, calmly, and reopened his eyes to let his gaze wander idly over the dorms. A bunch of students passed by the street and the sound of their laughter drew Dean's attention for an instant. Not willing to risk meeting the strangers' eyes, he looked down when they got closer.

It had been a little over five weeks since Sam and he had left Lawrence, a little over five weeks since they had hit the road with the first light of morning. Snuck out of the trashed room to be more precise, not even bothering to check themselves out. Looking back now, Dean couldn't help but smile a little at how _unlike_ Sam such a behavior had been, yet how his little brother hadn't wavered in the least.

_I must be perverting him._

Dean chuckled silently and then sighed. Those last weeks had been really rough. They had spent the first week after leaving their hometown just driving away with no other destination than that which put miles between them and their nightmares. Dean had allowed Sam to take over the wheel without much of a protest. He had felt exhausted and so much as if he had lost his way that directing the Impala seemed pointless. He had slept practically through the entire first couple of days, and later on he had remained awfully quiet for a while. Other than tossing worried glances at him every 30 seconds, Sam hadn't pushed it and, for that, Dean thought, the kid deserved credit.

Dean hadn't been the best of company during the second week either. For him, the delicate balance in their brotherly relationship with Sam —which determined that he was the protector and not the other way round— had been compromised, and Dean was so ashamed and angry at himself for having made a scene back in the motel that he could barely look at Sam. From silent brooding he had passed to a guilt-ridden, passive-aggressive treatment that should have had Sam bailing on him at the first opportunity.

But for some reason, Sam had seemed determined to take all the crap Dean was throwing at him. After days of using his best exasperation-garnering techniques on his little brother and then clashing against Sam's wall of jaw-clenching, tongue biting countenance, Dean had started to consider that maybe, only maybe, he could bring himself to admit that, at the time, leaning on his brother had felt good. And that there was nothing wrong about it.

Somewhere in the third week, they had fought. Dean didn't even remember how it had started, only that early hours of morning had found him at a bar, staring blankly at a tequila shot. He had wanted to get wasted, but after a couple of drinks the numbness that had started to creep up his body had frightened him. Dean had felt sick of tail spinning, and had known that he needed to regain control, because no matter how lost he felt, the road of destruction he was headed towards wasn't the best of paths. The balance had to be restored, and Dean couldn't do it on his own. So, he had called Sam and had asked him to come and get him.

And Sam had come. And he had gotten him. Amongst the tension of the last days, it had been their turning point. Sam had downed the shot, and then Dean and he had sat outside the bar for a couple of hours just talking about nothing in particular. When Dean had sobered up, Sam had handed him the car keys with a stern look. They then had smiled to each other for the first time in days. And it had felt so good that Dean was able to sleep the whole night without nightmares.

Out of those five weeks, it had been only during the last two that he had been able to think about the events of those couple of days when they had been back home. Until then, he had refused to let his mind go there at all. One day, while he drove and Sam dozed, he had allowed himself to remember, if only for the sake of testing himself and had managed not to choke on his grief. Maybe he was healing, maybe he had simply rebuilt his walls. But the fact remained that he was back, and that was what had mattered.

Later, when Sam had woken up, Dean had asked him if he was okay. He had realized during his musings that he hadn't asked his brother this question after everything that had happened and he felt terrible because of it. What kind of big brother was he? Sam had arched an eyebrow and looked at Dean as if he had grown a second head. Uncomfortable, the older brother had rolled his eyes and grumbled something slightly resembling, "Whatever, dude, just asking." It had elicited a grin from Sam, who had turned to contemplate the landscape through the window.

"I'm fine," Sam had softly said after a while.

And then—

"I've missed you."

Then six days ago, Sam had mustered the courage to tell Dean there was something he needed to do. Dean hadn't been too surprised when his brother explained what. More than that, he had been proud of his brother's bravery, and he knew it was his turn to have his back.

They had been in Palo Alto for the last three days, looking for any trace Jessica might still be around. Thankfully, when they had scanned the area they found nothing out of the ordinary. But it had been hard for Sam anyway; the pain wasn't only intense, but also too recent. Dean had obliged and checked out Sam's place as many times as the younger brother had considered necessary, even when he was already convinced there was nothing there to find. He wasn't very good with words, and that was his way to be supportive.

They were about to leave now, since Sam was finally satisfied. The younger hunter had wanted to visit the dorms alone one last time, and Dean was waiting for him across the street by the car, with too much time to think. About Lawrence, about the last month. About their father.

They hadn't heard from John since he had left them in Kansas. Of course, that wasn't a first. But while Dean was slowly coming to terms with his mother's death, he wasn't handling his father's reaction very well. It wasn't that he didn't understand it, because he felt like he deserved John's anger for what he had done to the man's wife. But the thought that was tearing him apart was that his father had ordered him away from the _hunt_, which was the only thing he knew how to do and the only thing that made them a family. Even if he had sometimes doubted his father's love for him, his father's trust in his abilities had always been a fact he cherished over any other part of their relationship. Now he was no longer a son and no longer a soldier either. He was nothing, with nowhere to go, and no purpose to follow.

Of course, he could disobey John's order and keep on hunting. His brother and he had been hunting on their own for months now, and they were perfectly capable. Besides, as far as he knew, Sam had no intention of stopping for the time being. Funny, he thought, because Sam of all people should have felt relieved and eager to take his father's 'permission' to leave a life he hated and had run away from not so long ago.

Maybe he was only doing it for him. Sam had been doing a lot of things for him lately.

Anyhow, they had seen evil too often by now to re-learn how to ignore it, and Dean didn't have it in him to step aside and allow other people to get hurt when he could do something to prevent it. Jennifer and her family were probably alive because of that. But that didn't mean he didn't miss his captain's blessing.

Badly.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sam's return. The younger hunter exited the dorm building and walked gloomily to the Impala. Dean straightened up and sighed when his brother, eyes low and suspiciously bright, came closer. Once by the car, Sam took a moment before raising his eyes and meeting his brother's questioning look. He rewarded Dean's concern with a brief smile, an unspoken "I'm alright" that made Dean's expression soften.

"You ready?" Dean questioned, eyes fastened on Sam's.

Sam nodded.

"Wanna drive?"

The younger brother snorted, a more relaxed smile lingering now on his lips.

"Nah, it's okay," he said, shaking his head and opening the passenger's door to claim his seat.

Absently scanning the familiar surroundings while chewing on his bottom lip, Sam remained silent while the Impala made its way out of the city. Well aware that the younger man was troubled, Dean kept an inconspicuous eye on his brother but decided to give him a bit of space and also to give their Impala a bit of time to work her magic. Their little sanctuary had always had a soothing effect on them. Even when they couldn't talk anywhere else, they were able to do so in the car. And to tell the truth, Dean wanted to talk too.

"I called Missouri this morning," Dean commented, stealing a glance towards Sam to gauge his reaction. His little brother cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You did?"

"Yeah, well," Dean waved a hand to play it down. "I was pretty rude with her. I figured I had to… you know…"

Sam nodded.

"So, how's she doing?"

"She's okay," Dean answered. After a beat, he added, "Jennifer is alright too."

"Good," Sam said, smiling honestly and resting his head back on the headrest. His voice fell down to a whisper. "That's good."

"She asked about you," Dean pointed out.

Sam grunted absently and rolled his head to look through the window.

"She wanted to know if you…" Dean continued tentatively. Sam insisted on avoiding his eyes. "Huh…you know," the older hunter said and then cleared his throat. "These dreams you have…"

"I haven't had any since then," Sam cut his brother off.

"Yeah…Okay," Dean said, shrugging. But he wanted to make sure, and so he pushed. "So no weird vibes lately, no spidey sense tingling…?"

"No, Dean, nothing. Will you drop it already?" Sam protested.

Dean bit his lip. Sam was getting defensive and he really didn't want to upset his brother. He was just…

"She seemed kinda worried."

Well, _worried_.

"She shouldn't be." Sam grumbled back.

"Because…if there was anything, I mean, you know you could tell me. You _would_ tell me…right?"

Sam ran his right hand through his hair, gripped the back of his neck, and left his arm like that so that he could use it as a pillow against the window.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'd tell you," Sam replied softly.

Dean nodded, momentarily satisfied. But only momentarily.

"Because…" Dean started again. Sam sighed but Dean ignored it. "I know maybe after the way we left you think that…But you know if anything happened, or if you, huh, felt that you…If you wanted her help, you know I would…We could _go back._"

Sam turned at that, and Dean felt his brother's eyes boring a hole in his head.

"If you needed it," he concluded, swallowing uncomfortably.

When Sam didn't answer right away, Dean felt compelled to tear his attention from the road and shift it onto his brother. Sam was looking at him with a mix of surprise and adoration that made Dean uneasy. And at the same time a bit warmer inside.

"Dean, you don't ha-…"

"Just so you know it," it was Dean's time to cut his brother off.

Sam smiled and resumed staring at the passing landscape.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Dean released his breath, nodded, and focused on driving for the next few miles. Sam was quiet for so long that Dean thought he had fallen asleep. But when after half an hour of silence Dean tossed a look at his little brother, he saw Sam had his eyes half-closed and was wearing a pensive frown.

"What is it?" he asked his little brother curiously.

Sam's frown deepened, but his only answer was a small shake to his head.

"I know there's something going on in that freaky head of yours, Sam," Dean insisted, trying to insert a bit of humor. "C'mon, you may as well tell me."

"It's silly, Dean," Sam said wearily.

"So it's something," the older hunter reasoned.

Sam huffed and looked down, eliciting a worried frown from Dean. Now he was sure, because Sam was wearing _that_ face, the "I'm beating myself up over something, and please tell me it's stupid so I can stop feeling like crap" face.

Perhaps Palo Alto had been harder on him than he had had given away.

"You want me to pull over?"

"No, Dean. It's nothing," the younger man answered firmly. Too firmly for Dean's liking. And with a voice too thick with emotion for his big brother to buy it.

"Yeah, right," Dean grunted and pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Unfazed by Sam's low grunt of annoyance, Dean killed the engine and turned around to face him.

"Spill," he said flatly.

The younger man scowled at him defiantly, but Dean didn't recoil. He could tell something was seriously bugging Sam, and he wanted to fix it. Hell, he wanted his big brother role back, once and for all.

"Dean," Sam whined. It didn't work. When Sammy gave up in the glaring contest and pursed his lips, he looked achingly young. "Man, really. It's stupid, can't we just leave it?"

"Well, obviously it's not stupid to you. So, you don't want to talk about it? Fine. But don't keep from talking about it, because you've got it in your head that whatever it is isn't important. That's just lame."

Sam's chin trembled as he set his jaw.

"Sam?"

"I just…"

Dean arched an eyebrow and coaxed his brother to go on. At least, he hadn't started with "I don't want to talk about it," so there was still hope.

"I was thinking about Jess, okay?"

Dean nodded in understanding. He had expected something like that.

"Huh, okay…"

Sam sighed and drummed his fingers nervously on his knee.

"And about Mom," the younger brother muttered.

Dean gulped.

"Uh-huh, what about them?"

"It's st-"

"Stupid, I know. Humour me anyway."

The younger man took a deep breath.

"Mom…when she…When it happened, and she stayed instead of moving on," Sam said, struggling with the words. "She did it because she loved us. Because she couldn't leave us, right?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said.

Sam remained silent for a few moments, his Adam's apple wobbling.

"I loved Jess, Dean," Sam said bluntly.

"I know you did."

"And I sure as hell needed her, man. I-" Sam had to pause to steady his voice and stop it from shaking. "I just thought maybe she…"

Dean frowned, finally getting where Sam was trying to go.

"Aw, Sam."

"I told you it was silly!" the younger Winchester said, averting his eyes and pressing himself against the car door and window.

"You cannot seriously be thinking that anyone's love for another can be weighed depending on whether their spirit moves on or not!" Dean said with his voice raised.

"I know that, Dean. I _know_ that," Sam defended himself. "I don't mean that I wanted her to stay, okay? I know it would have been a thousand times worst. I was…only wondering."

Dean exhaled, eyeing his brother carefully. Sam was visibly uncomfortable now and showed no intention of looking up anytime soon.

"You wanted to know what was on my mind," Sam said through clenched teeth. "That was it. Now, can we leave it?"

Dean nodded tensely and drove the Impala back to the road.

"Hey, Sam?

"Mmm."

"I know what you meant."

"You do?" Sam asked and dared to look at his brother across the front seat.

"Yeah, I think so. But there's a glitch in your reasoning, college boy," Dean said, offering him a mild smile.

Sam merely blinked.

"Sammy, when Mom died, she stayed because he loved us, right? But most importantly, she stayed because she _worried_ about us."

Dean met his brother's gaze and saw that he had all of Sam's attention now like he always did when he allowed himself to open up. The older brother licked his lips and went on.

"We were kids, and the house was on fire…And think about it, would you really leave at ease knowing that you were leaving us with _Dad_?" Dean finished with a nervous chuckle.

Sam smiled, his dimples showing just a little. The smile almost touched his eyes. But he said nothing, and for that Dean was grateful. He couldn't take Sam seizing the chance to criticize their father now.

"I'm sure that Jess loved you," Dean said. _Damn, who _wouldn't_ love you, kiddo?_ "But she was able to leave in peace, because she wasn't worried. She knew that…it would be hard, and it would hurt but…" he cleared his throat and looked at Sam hesitantly out of the corner of his eye. "That eventually, you'd get over it. That you'd be alright."

Sam's jaw loosened a bit as his smile broke into a low, short chuckle. And, as if by magic Dean relaxed instantly.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Sam said vaguely.

Dean was surprised at how easy that had been. But when looking for the reason, Sam's eyes spoke for themselves.

"_After all, she got to meet you."_

Damn, damn brother connection.

Luckily for Dean's recently recovered sense of pride, his cell phone buzzed in that very second and interrupted the moment.

"Can you take it?" he asked Sam.

"Message?"

"Yeah."

"Where is it?"

"In my jacket."

Sam shifted in his seat and reached out for his brother's jacket in the back seat so that he could retrieve the phone from its pocket.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Looking over to Sam, he discovered his brother was smiling. His heart sped up.

"Coordinates?" Dean breathed, reluctant to get his hopes up.

Sam turned to meet his eyes. Grinning, he showed Dean the screen with their father's short, bare, absolutely Winchester-like notification of acceptance. Of forgiveness. Of trust.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said, and Dean beamed. "Coordinates."

**THE END**

**Any final comment? Thanks for reading!!!**


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